


colder as the years go, warm yourself again

by annemari



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bondage, Flogging, M/M, Minor Pete/Mikey, Pain Kink, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 03:08:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/947911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annemari/pseuds/annemari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikey's fucking lucky to know so many great dudes he can hook up with. Especially Travie, who's fucking great and willing to tie Mikey up and hurt him if Mikey asks. It doesn't matter that he's avoiding Gerard and Gerard has no clue what he's getting up to. Mikey's not actively <i>hiding</i> it. It's just, it's kind of hard to talk to your brother about your sex life. Especially when you're in love with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	colder as the years go, warm yourself again

**Author's Note:**

> This is a college AU. It doesn't stick to canon details.
> 
> Thank you so much to **alpheratz** for being an absolutely wonderful beta!  <333 Title of the story comes from Mikky Ekko's "Disappear".
> 
> The story was written for Bandom Big Bang 2013 and morganya created an awesome mix for it. Check it out [here](http://annemari.dreamwidth.org/332377.html) (vaguely nsfw cover picture)!

"On the bed, Mikey Way," Travie says, voice commanding. It's weird for Mikey to hear his name like that, not fitting the moment, but it sort of helps, too. He takes a deep breath, and climbs onto the bed.

"Kneel," Travie says. "Hands behind your back."

Mikey breathes out slowly and angles himself like Travie said. He's nervous, more nervous than excited at the moment, but he lets Travie lead him. Travie's good at it, and his voice is soothing.

"Stay still," Travie says, and lays a hand on Mikey's shoulder. Mikey tries to slow his breathing, keep himself as still as he can. "Good. Now you fucking tell me if you want me to stop."

Mikey nods, and Travie squeezes his shoulder.

It was a couple of days ago when Mikey took a deep breath after he and Travie hooked up—after Travie had wrapped his long fingers around Mikey's wrists and held him tight, almost painful, Mikey facing the wall while Travie fucked him—and said, "Have you ever tied someone up?"

Travie had just looked at him at first, Mikey feeling awkward under the gaze, before he'd nodded slowly and asked, "You want me to do that with you?"

So here Mikey is, naked in Travie's dorm room—with the assurance that his roommate will be gone for the night—waiting to get tied up and fucked.

Travie moves away from Mikey, and Mikey can hear him opening a drawer, closing it. The bed sinks as Travie settles behind him. Mikey keeps his breathing steady. It's slightly chilly in Travie's room, the cold seeping its way into Mikey's back and shoulders.

He clears his throat, says, "Can you crank the heat up?"

"Yeah, sure," Travie says. Mikey waits for him to get back on the bed, and exhales softly when the bed dips again. "You ready?" Travie asks. Mikey nods again. "Use your words."

"Yes," Mikey says, immediately. "Ready."

Travie doesn't waste any more time. He starts winding the rope around Mikey's wrists. The rope feels good against Mikey's skin.

"Talk to me, Mikey," Travie says. "Tell me how it feels."

Mikey takes a deep breath. "Can you do it tighter?"

Travie obliges, tugging the rope tighter. It's still not what Mikey's looking for.

"More."

"It'll cut off your circulation," Travie says.

Mikey shakes his head. "Do it."

"It'll hurt," Travie warns. Mikey closes his eyes and doesn't reply. Travie seems to take the hint. "Okay," he says softly.

"You're okay with that?" Mikey asks.

"Yeah, Mikey," Travie says. "I can do that."

He pulls the rope even tighter, until Mikey feels like there's no way he can break free. "Is that okay?" Travie asks.

"Yes," Mikey says, and feels Travie sit back. Mikey breathes in and tries to pull his hands free. It doesn't work, all it does is make the ropes dig in a bit, the pressure growing. Mikey gasps, and closes his eyes.

"You okay?" Travie asks.

"Yes," Mikey says. "Yes, I—" He moves his hands again, trying to twist them, to the same result. The muscles in his shoulders and upper back protest, and Mikey stops and breathes in deep.

"Do you want to just stay like this?"

Mikey shakes his head, and moves again, struggling against the rope.

"Do you want me to take it off?" Travie asks.

"No," Mikey says immediately. "No." Fuck, he hopes Travie gets this. He just wants—this. He wants to try this.

"Okay," Travie says. He doesn't come any closer, but Mikey knows he's sitting right behind him, watching. If Mikey does want to get the ropes off, all he has to do is say so.

He twists one shoulder, trying to pull one hand away, but the ropes are fucking tight. It's not the same pain as Travie digging his fingers into Mikey's wrists, but it still _hurts_ , it's hurting his wrists, and his arms, and his shoulders.

He squeezes his eyes shut and twists his hands around. He hopes there'll be bruises. He wonders how long he has to do that to really get some rope burn going. He wants it to hurt and he wants it to leave a mark. So far he's good on the first one. He twists his shoulder again and pulls and _fuck_ , fuck, that's _so good_.

"You good?" Travie asks.

Mikey nods frantically, and starts rubbing his wrists together. The ropes are slightly too thick and soft to really chafe, but the way Travie's got them so tight is really working for Mikey. It's getting harder to breathe, and fuck, he's getting hard. He's actually getting hard from this. The realization just adds to it, and he groans.

"Fuck, fuck, Travie, can you fuck me?"

He really wants to get fucked, he doesn't even—all he knows is that he needs Travie to fuck him, right now. He can't move his fucking hands, and it feels like he can't _breathe_ , and it's so good, he didn't expect it to feel that good. His stomach's tight, and he's gasping for air, but there's Travie's voice, calming, firm.

"Easy, Mikey, it's okay. I'm gonna take good care of you."

Travie's voice, with the combination of the pain in Mikey's wrists and arms, helps him focus just enough for him to get some deep breaths in.

"There you go," Travie says, and scoots closer. Mikey doesn't expect Travie to untie him, but the rope is gone before Mikey can even react, and then Travie's taking his shoulders and turning him and pushing him to lie down on the bed. Mikey blinks up, confused, and feeling weird with his hands free again.

Travie grins down at him. "Just so I can see your pretty face, baby boy," he says, and Mikey laughs. Fuck, okay, he really needs Travie to fuck him.

"Travie," he says, pushing his hips up, and Travie grins wider and reaches for the condom and the lube.

"I got you," Travie says, and Mikey laughs. He feels so fucking good right now, he feels _high_. And really desperate for Travie to fuck him already, or at least fucking _touch_ him. Travie seems to have the same idea, because he quickly pulls Mikey's briefs down, and then he's slicking up his hand and sliding his fingers in.

Mikey groans and clenches around Travie's fingers, wanting to feel it. Travie doesn't take long preparing him, his fingers moving expertly, and soon he's pushing in, just this side of slightly too dry, and fucking Mikey in earnest. Mikey's been hard for a while now; and every time Travie leans down to kiss Mikey's neck or his face, his stomach brushes against the underside of Mikey's dick and Mikey has to bite his lip not to scream out.

"Fuck," he pants out, "fuck, fuck, Travie, come on."

"'S what I'm doing," Travie says, laughing, and Mikey would punch him in the shoulder if he could.

Finally, fucking finally, Travie wraps his hand around Mikey's dick and starts jacking him off, keeping a fucking perfect rhythm going. Travie's a fucking expert at handjobs—he's a fucking expert at everything, especially fucking—and it doesn't take long before Mikey's coming, all over Travie's hand.

Travie leans down and kisses Mikey, wet and sloppy and Mikey fucking loves it, wraps his arms around Travie's shoulders and holds him there. Travie keeps fucking Mikey, hand squeezing Mikey's hip now, and then he's coming as well, burying his face in Mikey's neck. He stays there for a bit, panting, then pulls back and presses a kiss to Mikey's cheek, and Mikey laughs.

Travie pulls out, and Mikey makes a soft noise, and curls up on his side. He's tired and content. And also kind of sticky, but whatever.

Travie gets rid of the condom, and finds some napkins, half-heartedly cleaning himself off and trying to help Mikey as well. He seems tired. "It's fine," Mikey says, finally sitting up and pushing Travie's hand away. "Dude, I don't give a shit about that, if you don't." Travie shrugs, and throws the napkins on the ground.

"Let me see your wrists," Travie says, and gently takes Mikey's hands in his. Mikey leans forward to look at them as well. There's slight bruising already, but no broken skin, just dents from the ropes. Mikey wonders how long they'll last, how intense the bruising will be.

He wants Travie to hold his wrists and dig his fingers in, fingernails scraping against the skin, but Travie's holding his hands as if they're fragile. And Mikey's tired. Maybe he doesn't really want Travie to do that; maybe he wants that some other time.

"How bad do they hurt?" Travie asks.

"Not bad," Mikey says. He pulls one hand away from Travie and gently presses down on the bruise on the other. It's not too bad. "It's good," he says, softly. "Thanks."

"Sure," Travie says. "I had fun, man. As long as you're good. You don't need me to put anything on them?"

"No, I'm good," Mikey says. "Later. I'm—I can crash here, right?"

"Of fucking course," Travie says. "What did you think?"

Mikey shakes his head, smiling. "Just making sure."

Travie rolls his eyes and pushes at Mikey's shoulder. Mikey lies down on his back, pulling Travie with him, and Travie settles behind him, close. Travie's warm and safe, and Mikey feels comfortable with him.

"You think we can do something like that again?" Mikey asks.

Travie rubs his hip. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I'd be up for it."

"Yeah?" Mikey asks. "Thanks."

"I liked it," Travie says. "You don't have to thank me for that, we both had fun."

"Still," Mikey says. "Okay. It's just. Thanks." He doesn't know how to explain to Travie that this is a big deal. It seems like a big deal. But maybe it's not, maybe it can just be like this, and Mikey can have fun with it. He can certainly have fun with Travie.

Travie chuckles softly. "Sleep, dude," he says, and Mikey does.

~

"Hey," someone says. "Mikey, dude."

Mikey blinks awake and yawns immediately. Fuck, he's tired.

Frank throws a sock at him. "Don't you have class?"

Mikey blinks, and buries his face further into the pillow. "What time is it?" He knows Frank usually gets up around nine on Tuesdays, but it feels later than that. And it doesn't feel like a Tuesday, but it must be. Yesterday was Monday, Mikey's pretty sure.

"Fifteen past nine," Frank says, and turns on the overhead light.

"Dude." Mikey closes his eyes and pulls the covers over his head.

"Sorry," Frank says. "I can't find my fucking keys." Mikey can hear him rustling around the room, bumping into things. Frank's not very coordinated this early, either.

Mikey pulls the covers down and blinks at the ceiling. "It feels later than it is."

"Daylight savings," Frank reminds him.

"Oh," Mikey says. "Cool."

"Yup," Frank says. "Aha!" He twirls his keys around. "Dude, seriously, do you not have class?"

"Not till twelve," Mikey says. "That thing at ten got rescheduled, remember?"

"No," Frank says. "But okay then. You gonna stay in bed till then?"

"Probably," Mikey says. He's warm, and mostly content. It's cold outside. He wishes they had a coffeemaker in their room. "I wish we had a coffeemaker."

"I know, dude," Frank says. Mikey sighs. He has to make sure he gets out of bed early enough to stop by the tiny coffee shop on campus before class. He doesn't want to be late, he hates it when everyone turns to fucking look at him. Like no one else is ever late to class?

Frank grabs his bag and says, "Don't blow off your class, okay?" Coming from anyone but Frank, it'd be annoying. Mikey's not sure how Frank can make it sound neutral instead of fucking preachy, but he does. It's almost nice, knowing Frank actually cares.

"I won't," Mikey says. Gabe will probably be there, and maybe Pete if he got enough sleep last night. Mikey should ask them if they're going. He tries to remember where he put his phone. Did he leave it in his bag? Maybe Frank knows. "Could you hand me my phone?" he asks.

Frank rolls his eyes, but stalks back to the desk and gets Mikey's phone.

Mikey smiles. "Thanks, Frankie."

"Yeah, yeah," Frank says. "Whatever, dude."

"Love you," Mikey calls out. Frank flips him the bird, not looking back, but Mikey can hear him laugh. It makes Mikey feel lighter, even if it is fucking Tuesday. He turns to his side and sends a quick text to Gabe and Pete. He falls asleep before they get back to him.

~

He somehow ends up getting to his lecture five minutes before it starts, and shuffles to his regular seat. Even fucking Gabe isn't there yet, and Pete's not coming. Mikey crouches down and drinks his coffee. He's always bored in this stupid lecture, but there are random quizzes so he doesn't feel comfortable skipping, not unless he has something better to do.

"Hey, Mikey Way." Mikey nods as Gabe takes the seat next to him. "What you been up to?"

Mikey shrugs. "Nothing."

Gabe tsks. "Come on, dude. _Nothing_? Please tell me you at least went to that party on Saturday. Don't break my heart, dude."

Mikey snorts. "Sorry, man." He'd thought about it, but he'd hung out with Frank and Ray at Ray's place that night, and somehow still ended hooking up with Travie. It'd been pretty bizarre, but fucking great. It's been a couple of weeks since Travie'd tied him up, and they haven't taken it much farther than that, but they have a good rhythm going. The bruises haven't left Mikey's wrists, and he likes it that way.

Gabe makes a wounded sound. "I'm wounded, Mikey Way."

"Shut up," Mikey says.

"Well," Gabe says, pulling out his notebook and then setting it up to rest his phone on it. "I did hear you got up to something interesting."

Mikey furrows his brow. "What?"

"Some kinky shit." Gabe grins.

Mikey stiffens. "Where'd you hear that?" He's not worried about stories going around; whatever, it's not like anyone will actually care, but. Gerard. Gerard would care, probably. And they have enough friends in common that it could get back to him.

"From Travie," Gabe says. "Chill, man, you know we're like that."

Mikey shakes his head. "Why the fuck did he tell you?"

"It just came up," Gabe says. "Was he not supposed to? Dude, I won't tell anyone."

"It's fine," Mikey says. "Well. Yeah, could you not?"

"Sure," Gabe says. "I was just teasing."

Mikey rolls his eyes and looks at the front of the hall where the professor is getting ready.

"Hey." Gabe nudges his shoulder. "So how was it?"

Mikey raises his eyebrows. "Good?"

"Are you not sure?"

"It's Travie," Mikey reminds him. "Plus I like—fuck, why are we talking about this?"

Gabe chuckles. "Okay, okay, relax. I'm very glad you had a nice time." He bats his eyelashes at Mikey, and Mikey snorts. The professor calls for attention and Mikey turns back to the board, and shakes his head. Fucking Gabe.

~

Mikey's been at the party for thirty minutes and has already lost track of how much he's been drinking when Pete appears by his side.

"Mikey Way." Pete wraps his arms around Mikey, pulling him into a sidehug. "How surprising to see you here."

Mikey rolls his eyes and tightens the grip on his cup. It's the only party tonight in the area, where else would he be? Pete's grinning, though, so Mikey leans into him. "Hey, Pete."

Pete steps back, and Mikey turns to face him. He's actually glad to see him; he's seen some familiar faces here, but not anyone he'd want to talk to.

"You enjoying the party, Mikey Way?"

Mikey shrugs. "What's up, Pete?" Pete looks nervous, bouncing on his toes, hands in his pockets, but he's often like that.

Pete shakes his shoulders. "I'm good," he says. "You liking the party?"

Mikey raises an eyebrow.

Pete sighs, deflating with it. "I was gonna work up to it, okay."

Mikey drinks his beer. "What?"

"So I was talking to Gabe," Pete says.

Mikey blinks, frowns when Pete doesn't continue. "Yeah?"

Pete looks down and mumbles something that's impossible to hear considering the noise level in the room. Mikey reaches out and pulls him closer. "What?"

Pete sighs. "He said you were a kinky motherfucker, okay."

Mikey freezes for a second. Fucking Gabe. "What the fuck?" he asks, frowning.

"No, no," Pete says, grabbing hold of his arm. "He said you liked to get tied up."

Mikey frowns deeper, and tries to pull away. He's not embarrassed by it, not like Gabe said, but he's just not into fucking talking about it, especially here.

"Wait, wait," Pete says. "Fucking wait, okay. I just meant you can do it to someone else."

Mikey stops. "What?"

Pete rocks on his heels. He takes a deep breath, then blurts out, "Could you tie me up?"

Mikey blinks again. "I—"

"It's like a d/s thing, right?" Pete asks. "Could you?"

"Pete, I don't—know." Mikey can't imagine being on the other side of it. Yeah, he _could_ physically do it, he guesses, but that's not what he's into.

"Please," Pete says. "I really—need it, okay."

Mikey swallows hard, and tugs Pete closer, till they're both leaning against the wall, hidden in the corner. "Can't you get Travie to do it?"

Pete looks down. "I don't want it to be Travie. I mean, I love the guy, but." He shrugs. "I don't want to hook up with him like that."

Mikey nods. "What about Gabe?" He knows Pete's into Gabe, and personally, he thinks Gabe's way more fitting for this.

Pete sighs. "He won't. He has, like—" Pete waves his hand. "A thing about it."

Mikey frowns. "What thing?"

"A thing, Mikey Way," Pete says, and waves his hands again. "Just a thing, okay."

"Okay," Mikey says, widening his eyes. "Fine. Wait, so—"

"I want it to be you," Pete says. "Come on, Mikes, I fucking—trust you, okay."

Mikey sighs. Fuck. "Not tonight."

Pete quickly shakes his head. "Of course, yeah. I can wait." He doesn't look like he can, but Mikey's so not up for it tonight. He's sure he also shouldn't be drunk for it.

"I'll let you know," Mikey says. "When, okay?"

Pete nods again. He goes up to his tiptoes and presses close, kisses Mikey's cheek. "Thanks, Mikey Way."

Mikey closes his eyes and sighs. Pete's warm and comfortable, and he can be so fucking _sweet_. Mikey doesn't know what to do with it. He's not sure if he should.

"Come on," Pete says. "Let's blow this place, it's fucking boring. Let's go find Ryan and his."

Mikey finishes his beer. "I haven't even seen Gabe and Travie yet." Now he's not so sure if he wants to. Fuck.

Pete shakes his head. "They're not here," he says. "Gabe said they were gonna come, but I just texted them and they said they got distracted by something. A fucking TV show or something. Like, what the fuck, man?"

"Gerard does that, too," Mikey says. "With comics. Only he won't even answer his phone then." Gerard. Fuck. Mikey hasn't texted him since yesterday. "Okay, let's go. You think Ryan has weed?"

Pete snorts. "I'm fucking counting on it."

"Okay." Mikey trashes his cup, and follows Pete out the door.

~

Mikey groans and pulls the blanket over his head, trying to block out the ringing in his ears. It doesn't work, it just keeps getting louder.

It takes him way too long to realize it's his phone alarm. In his defense, he doesn't use it often, he has Frank to wake him up instead. He throws the blanket off and blearily stares around. There, on the bedside table. He lunges for it and shuts it off, thank fuck. 

It's cold in the room, and dark. He turns on the light and gropes around for his glasses, slips them on. The phone tells him it's almost twelve.

Mikey groans and presses his face into the pillow, glasses be damned. He feels like shit, head fuzzy and throat dry. He needs fucking coffee. (Frank got them a coffee maker as an early birthday present for himself. Mikey fucking loves him for it.)

He and Pete did find Ryan and his friends last night, but instead of smoking up, they ended up walking the streets, looking for someone who had promised Ryan a great stash. It wasn't as annoying as Mikey had thought it'd be; Ryan and his friends were cool dudes, but they didn't get anywhere with it, and by the end Mikey was practically frozen.

He must have slept through Frank getting up, and Frank set an alarm for him. Mikey fucking loves Frank.

He groans again, then pushes himself up. He has two classes today, a test in one, and he needs to get going now if he doesn't want to be late.

Three cups of coffee and a quick—way overdue, yes, Frank—shower later, he's still feeling terrible. He settles into his regular seat in his first lecture and pillows his head on his arms. He hopes it's just an intense hangover. He fucking hates being sick.

He straightens up, blinks, and huddles back down in his hoodie, pulling his sleeves over his hands. He just needs more coffee.

By the time his second class is done he has to admit to himself that it's looking more and more likely that he's coming down with something. He's cold, shivering and miserable. He just wants to sleep for a week and ignore everything.

He drags himself back to his room, and he's about to push the door open when he sees it. A sock on the fucking doorknob. Fuck. He knows that if he knocked on the door, and told Frank he was sick Frank would get it, and he'd probably be nice about it, too. But Mikey also knows Frank and Jamia don't have enough time to themselves, and he's too fucking tired to explain or even talk or whatever. He can't do it.

He leans against the door and thinks. He has options, he knows, he has friends he could go to, someone he could crash with for the night.

But he's sick and tired, and he misses his stupid brother. He goes to Gerard.

~

It takes Mikey a good minute to get the spare key to work, and he vaguely wonders if any neighbors will come to see whether anyone's breaking in. He seriously doubts anyone cares.

He finally gets the door open and determines that the reason no one came to let him in isn't that they're dead or anything. They're just not home. Gerard probably has class, and his roommate, Matt, has—whatever.

Mikey closes the door behind him and leans against it. His head's spinning a little, but that might be because he hasn't properly eaten anything since yesterday, and he had to spend thirty minutes on the subway because of a delay, and walk three blocks to get here. His whole body is aching by this point.

Gerard will be back at some point, so Mikey toes off his boots and settles on the couch to wait. The room's cold, like his dorm room, and just as dark. Mikey thinks about turning on the light, or going to Gerard's room and just crashing out on his bed, but he's too tired to get up now that he's sat down.

He curls up, breathes through the ache in his stomach, tries to ignore the way his head is pounding. The bed would probably smell of Gerard. The living room doesn't, it just smells of smoke and the wrong kind of deodorant.

Mikey rests his head against the back of the couch and closes his eyes. It sucks—it makes his brain fill with all these _things_. Things he has to do, things he's not doing, people he has promised things to—Pete, shit—and people he's avoiding, avoiding even when he's at their place and they're not here.

He's cold. Mikey opens his eyes, stares at the room. There's not a blanket anywhere, and there's only one pillow on the couch. He considers lying down, knees pulled up to his chest, but the couch is too narrow to be comfortable, and he doesn't want Matt to find him like that, vulnerable. He pulls his sleeves down again.

He grabs the pillow—it looks like the one Gerard had in his room back home, he hopes it is—and clutches it, presses it to his stomach and curls up around it. He shuffles around till he's sitting sideways, leans his head against the couch again, and closes his eyes.

~

"Mikey? Mikey." Someone's shaking him gently. Mikey grumbles. "Mikes, wake up." Oh. It's Gerard. Mikey blinks his eyes open, and frowns. The light hurts his eyes. Fuck.

"Mikey, are you okay?" Gerard asks, voice concerned.

"'M fine," Mikey mumbles. "Fine." He coughs a little. Fuck everything.

"Why didn't you stay at the dorm?" Mikey frowns, and curls up more. "I didn't mean it like that," Gerard says. "Just—you're sick."

"It's not that bad," Mikey says, and shivers. "Frank was with Jamia."

Gerard sighs, then leans down to touch his hand to Mikey's forehead. Mikey leans into it. He can't help it. He's pissy and sick and tired, and he wishes he could pull away from the touch, but it feels too good, Gerard's hand gentle and cool.

"I think you have a fever," Gerard says, sounding even more worried than before.

Mikey shrugs. "I'm cold. Just wanna sleep." He looks up at Gerard and meets his eyes. Gerard's eyes are big and concerned. Mikey can't remember the last time Gerard looked at him that intently. He fucking hates it, he's so tired of it, tired of avoiding him.

Gerard sits down next to him and Mikey closes his eyes, tells himself to not curl into Gerard. "Does anything hurt?" Gerard asks.

"Headache," Mikey says. He presses his hands against his belly and breathes out slowly. "Stomach's weird. I can just sleep it off."

"Well, come on then." Gerard rubs Mikey's arm, then grabs his hand and stands up, gently pulling Mikey with him. "Let's get you to bed."

Mikey stumbles, but Gerard steadies him and leads him to his bedroom. His bed's messy, but it looks comforting. Soft, warm. Mikey heads right for it.

"Do you wanna take your jeans off?" Gerard asks. "Your stomach might feel better."

Mikey sits down on the bed with a sigh and reaches for his fly. It does feel better when he's unbuttoned his pants, less pressure.

"I'm gonna go get you some water," Gerard says and leaves the room.

Mikey manages to get his pants off and throws them over the chair next to Gerard's desk. He crawls up the bed and lies down, pulling the covers up. Gerard's bed smells like Gerard. Mikey tries to think back to the last time he slept in Gerard's bed. Probably when he came to visit Gerard, back when he was still in high school. 

It was easier then, he remembers. They saw each other even less often, but it was because of a _reason_ , it was because Gerard was here and Mikey was there, and Gerard was always glad when Mikey came over. And back then Mikey didn't curl up in Gerard's bed and breathe in the smell of him and then feel sick afterward because of all it made him want. It was easier.

The bed dips as Gerard sits down. "Here," he says, softly. "Can you drink some?" Mikey blinks his eyes open and stares at the glass of water Gerard's holding out. "Come on," Gerard says. "Sit up for just a moment."

"My head hurts," Mikey complains. He feels sicker by the minute; he just wants to _sleep_. Why doesn't Gerard get that?

"I know," Gerard says. "I'll get you Tylenol, okay? But come on, drink this first. Fluids are good."

Mikey snorts, but that just hurts his head more. Fuck.

"Mikey," Gerard coaxes him. He rubs Mikey's back, and that feels nice, too. Mikey doesn't actually want to be babied when he's sick, but that doesn't mean it isn't nice. Especially when his muscles ache and he feels like shit. "Just sit up for a second, okay? Just this one glass."

Mikey sighs and pushes himself up, wincing when it makes his head twinge.

"Here," Gerard says. 

Mikey takes the glass and drinks it slowly. Gerard doesn't look away from him, staring at him with his big eyes. Mikey finishes it and hands it back, and Gerard smiles. 

"Okay, you can sleep now."

"I thought you were gonna get Tylenol," Mikey says.

"Later," Gerard says. "Sleep for a bit, okay? Or is it really bad?"

Mikey frowns. "No? I don't know. I'm tired."

Gerard nods, biting his lip. "Sleep. I'll get you something later if it gets worse, okay?"

Mikey sighs, but then he remembers how his mom claimed that fevers are necessary and you shouldn't lower them or some shit. Whatever. He lies back down and curls up again. He's so tired, even the headache won't keep him awake.

He wakes up for a brief moment when he feels a brush of fingers in his hair, and then later when someone climbs in the bed with him. He's too tired to say anything or even move, though. There's a hand on his back. It's comforting. He falls back asleep.

~

Mikey doesn't start feeling better until a couple of days later. Gerard wants him to stay at his, but Mikey feels weird about being there when Gerard has work to do and his roommate is home. Besides, it's weird sharing a bed that small when he's no longer fever-high. It didn't used to be weird. But then again, they were younger back then.

In any case, Mikey heads back to his dorm the next day, goes to at least some classes, and curls up in bed after, not doing much else. Gerard sends him worried texts and threatens to tell Mom if he doesn't take care of him, the usual stuff. That's kind of nice, actually.

He's getting twitchy, though. He's been cooped up and hasn't hooked up with anyone since—since he and Travie did that scene.

He ends up texting Travie on a Tuesday, hoping Travie doesn't have any plans for the night. Maybe even if they can't do anything, if Travie's not up for it, then they can at least hang or something. Travie's always fun to hang with.

Travie, though, sends him back, _You ready to try something new?_

Mikey gets the text while he's in class and has to bite his lip to not make a sound. He looks up at the room, but no one's paying him any attention.

 _Fuck yeah,_ he sends back. He's more than fucking ready.

_Tonight at my place. You want it to be a surprise?_

Mikey clutches his phone and tries not to chew up the inside of his lip. Fuck. _No, tell me,_ he sends back. He trusts Travie, but he hates surprises.

_I bought a flogger_

Mikey takes in a deep breath, and twitches in his seat. Fuck. _Fuck_. He sends back a quick, _fuck yeah, see you tonight_ , and pushes his phone away from himself. His stomach's gone all tight and he can't wait for this stupid class to be over. He doesn't even know why he's taking it. He frowns in the direction of the professor and tries to make sense of anything he's saying, but it's all noise. Fuck it.

He spends the rest of the class doodling shit in his notebook, just waiting for it to end. He'd get up and leave, but that always draws attention and he's not up for that right now. He can wait. And at the end of the day he'll get a reward.

~

"Hey." Travie's smiling as he opens the door. He has an easy smile, and he's generous with it, at least when it comes to people he likes. Mikey quirks his lips up and follows Travie into his room. 

"You excited?" Travie asks.

"Yeah," Mikey says. He really fucking is, it's just—there's one thing. "Um, I want to talk to you about something before."

Travie sits down on his bed and inclines his head, asking Mikey to join him. "Sure, what's up?"

Mikey shifts on his feet, and Travie frowns. "Did you change your mind or—"

"No, no," Mikey says. "It's just, I've been thinking about this, and I doubt I'll be, uh, in any condition to talk later, so I kind of want to get it off my chest, I guess."

Travie nods slowly. "Spill, Mikey Way."

"Pete wants me to tie him up," Mikey blurts out.

Travie tilts his head, looking thoughtful. "Okay."

Mikey sighs and sits down next to him. "I said that you could do it, but he said he didn't want it to be you. Uh. Sorry."

"No, man," Travie shakes his head. "I get it, I totally get it. It's Pete, you know?"

"Yeah," Mikey says. He thinks he does. "So he asked me and I said I could do it. We haven't yet, but. Yeah."

"Okay," Travie says. 

"He doesn't want the pain, you know? He just wants to be tied up."

Travie nods. "You know, man, if you feel like you can't do it then you don't have to."

"No, I can," Mikey says. "It's just—" He pauses. He was gonna say, "It's just tying someone up, how hard can it be," but that sounds really flippant. He doesn't want to be flippant about this, he shouldn't be. He wants to do this for Pete and he'll make sure he won't mess up.

Travie's looking at him, waiting for him to finish. Travie's like that. "It's fine," Mikey says. "I can do it."

"Okay," Travie says. "You know, you could borrow my rope."

"No, that's fine. I can buy my own."

"You sure?" Travie says.

Mikey shrugs. "Yeah. I have no idea when we're gonna do it anyway, or when I have time. It's fine."

"Okay," Travie says. "I can show you some tips at some point? I mean, you can read up on it yourself, of course, but if you're interested."

"Yeah," Mikey says. "Yeah, of course. Thanks, man."

Travie shrugs. "Sure. We gotta take care of Pete, right?"

"Yeah," Mikey says, smiling. "Okay. So, you bought a flogger?" His voice sounds weird on the last word, and Travie definitely notices.

"I definitely bought a flogger, baby boy," Travie tells him. "You ready to play now? We done with the Pete thing?"

Mikey nods. "Yeah." He just had to get it out there. He can focus on other things.

"Good," Travie says. "I was thinking I could whip your ass. If you'd like that."

Mikey's breath catches in his throat and he has to cough. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, fuck, I—yeah."

Travie raises his eyebrows, smiling. "Okay then."

The flogger is dark with a simple handle and thin tails made of some sort of leather. Travie lets him hold it; Mikey runs his hands over it, feeling the tails. He's seen one before, in a sex shop, but he's never had one used on him. He hasn't done a lot of fucking things. He's excited to try this out.

He likes the bruises Travie's left on him, and he likes the way Travie's fingernails dig into his flesh and leave marks, and that he holds on just a bit too tight, enough to hurt, like he can tell exactly how Mikey likes it, even when Mikey hasn't told him. But he wants to see what the sharp pain of a flogger will be like. He hopes it'll be sharp, it looks like it.

"Okay," Travie says. "So, you're gonna lie down on the bed on your stomach. I'll start off slow and gentle and then kick it up a bit, okay? And you're gonna _tell_ me if shit's weird or you don't like it or you can't handle it, yeah?"

Mikey nods. "Yes."

"Good," Travie says. "That's the plan for now. Now take off your pants."

Mikey obeys, hastily undoing his jeans and getting them down, followed by his briefs. Travie helps him find a good position on the bed, sliding a pillow under him. "You have a pretty skinny ass, Way," Travie says, running his hand over it.

Mikey hums in agreement and breathes out, trying to get settled.

"You gonna keep the glasses?" Travie asks.

"Oh," Mikey says. He always forgets. "No."

"Let me take these," Travie says, and slips the glasses off and sets them down on his nightstand. Mikey turns his head, resting his temple on his hands. This feels different from the times where Travie ties him up; Travie's always in control, even now, but with the ropes it seems more so.

Right now, though, Mikey feels weirdly more relaxed, but still excited.

Travie runs his hand over Mikey's ass and Mikey shivers. "You ready?" Travie asks.

"Yes," Mikey says. "Uh, you haven't done this before, have you?"

"Nope," Travie says easily. "So I'm gonna need you to talk to me, okay."

"Yeah," Mikey says. "Yes."

"Good," Travie says. He gives Mikey's ass a smack, light enough but unexpected, and Mikey yelps. Fuck. Fucking hell, Travie. He's fucking magic, Mikey knows.

"Nice," Travie says. "Okay, here we go with the real thing."

Mikey wonders if they should have worked up to it, and do some actual spanking before—spanking, fuck, he loves that he can just think of these things and they might become _true_ —but before he comes up with an answer, Travie brings the flogger down on Mikey's ass.

It's only sightly more forceful than his hand was, but Mikey still has to bite his lip to not scream. It's not even the pain, not yet, it's just the _feeling_. It's just—he can't describe it.

"Was that good?" Travie asks.

"Yes," Mikey says. "More, please. Travie."

"Slow your roll," Travie says. "We'll get there."

Mikey takes a breath and braces himself for another hit. It stronger, more intense, like Travie's hitting harder—or it could just be the fact that it's a second strike on the same spot.

Mikey wonders what it's gonna feel on the tenth, maybe fifteenth, and shudders.

"You good?" Travie asks.

"Yeah," Mikey says. His stomach feels tight and warm. "Fuck, yes."

"Okay," Travie says. "That's two now. How about you count for me."

He hits Mikey again, a bit sharper, and Mikey gasps. "Three."

"Good," Travie says. "Let's keep that up."

The fourth and fifth time aren't much stronger, and Travie's not hitting him _hard_ , isn't putting all his force into it, and it still hurts, and it still feels amazing.

Mikey stumbles on counting the eight one, he has to take a breath and concentrate on getting the words out.

"You okay?" Travie asks.

"Yeah," Mikey says. "Yeah, sorry."

"It's fine," Travie says. "You need me to stop?"

"No," Mikey says immediately. "No, please. Please, can you do it faster?"

He wants it to hurt. He fucking loves what it feels like right now, but he wants more. He always wants more, always.

"I don't know, man," Travie says. "First time, let's not mess it up."

"Please," Mikey says. He just needs it, he needs Travie to give him more. He wants to get off on this, he can feel himself getting hard, and he jerks against the pillow. He wants to get there, wants it to be good, wants for Travie to help him there and over the edge. Not like that time when he was slapping his thigh with a ruler, up in his room, and Gerard walked in and almost caught him.

Fuck. _Fuck_ , Mikey wasn't supposed to—

"Mikey?"

Mikey twists his head, his neck protesting, and looks at Travie. Travie's crouching by the bed, flogger in hand, and fuck, he's so fucking hot and he's so _good_ to Mikey. Mikey's so fucking glad to have Travie as his friend.

"Please," Mikey says. "Just a bit more."

Travie still looks conflicted, but then he nods. "Okay," he says. "Okay, don't worry, dude, I got you."

Mikey looks away, closes his eyes, and squirms around, expectant. "Stay still," Travie says, and Mikey freezes. "You don't have to count these ones, okay."

"Okay," Mikey says, and then Travie's hitting him, still not a continuous stream, but faster, fast enough that Mikey has a chance to take a breath and then the next one is coming, Travie picking up his pace and adding just a little more force.

It hurts. It feels like his ass is on fire, and it's that sharp kind of sting, _exactly_ what Mikey was looking for.

He doesn't go completely under, not like the last few times with the ropes, but this is different, and better, in some ways.

He doesn't even notice at first that he's started humping the pillow, his dick so hard. He rocks with every blow, and he's trying not to cry out, he's really trying but he's not sure if it works.

Finally, there's a sharp sting more focused on his right side and then nothing after that.

Mikey freezes for a second, taking in a breath, and then Travie's hands are on his ass, fingernails scraping against skin, gentle enough but still setting Mikey on fucking _fire_ , and he cries out.

"Easy, baby boy," Travie says. "You did good."

"Fuck," Mikey pants and rocks against the pillow, feeling Travie's fingers drag against his ass. "Fuck, Travie, please."

He's so fucking hard and he needs to come now, now, now.

"Easy," Travie says, and then he's helping Mikey to lie on his side, and Mikey reaches for his dick, but Travie gets there first, wrapping his hand around it and quickly jerking Mikey off.

Mikey screams when he comes, trying to muffle the sound against the pillow. Fuck, fucking fuck, he can't remember the last time he came this hard.

"Nice," Travie keeps repeating. "You did good."

Mikey tries to blink his eyes open, but he's totally spent, he's _so_ tired. "How much was that?" he asks.

"Fifteen," Travie says. "You did so good, Mikey Way."

Mikey breathes in, wanting to respond, but the next thing he knows someone is shaking his shoulder, trying to get him to wake up.

He pulls away, annoyed, and turns on his back, ready to tell Gerard to get the fuck out of his room, but then he gasps and opens his eyes, everything coming back in a flash of pain.

"Easy, easy," Travie says, and helps Mikey turn to lie back down on his stomach. "I just wanted to get a look at your ass, pretty boy."

"Shit," Mikey gasps. "Fuck, Travie, that's so fucking good." Even Travie's soft bedsheets feel like too much against Mikey's ass.

Travie chuckles. "Yeah? Good. Let's get something on it, though, we don't want it to fall off."

"Fuck you," Mikey says happily. "How long was I asleep?"

"Five, maybe ten minutes."

"Huh," Mikey says. "Felt like longer."

"The wonders of our brains," Travie says. "It's some weird shit."

Mikey laughs and rests his forehead on his hands. He hears Travie uncap a bottle or something, and then Travie's hand is on his ass, rubbing in something cold.

"Stings a little," Mikey says. It's a bit more than a little. He likes it, but it's making him feel slightly too sensitized. He realizes abruptly that he's lying in a wet spot. Gross, but understandable.

"You didn't clean me up, man?"

"I cleaned you," Travie says. "I didn't clean the fucking bed."

"Good priorities," Mikey says, and yawns.

Travie laughs, and gently pats Mikey's ass. "There we go. You can go back to sleep now."

Mikey turns on his side, and smiles at Travie. "Did you like that?"

"Yeah," Travie says. "I really fucking did."

"Good," Mikey says, and yawns again.

"Sleep," Travie says, and gets up. "I'll be right back."

"Okay," Mikey mumbles, and settles in. He feels really fucking good right now.

It's just—he didn't think he _could_ have this. There were so many things he couldn't have. It's nice to be wrong, he guesses, about this at least. Finally, at least something is working out. He yawns again, burying his face in the pillow and curling up, and is asleep before Travie gets back.

~

Mikey frowns at his desk. He shuffles his things around again, then sighs. "Hey, Frank?"

"Yeah?" Frank's lying on his bed, laptop resting on his stomach. Two of his lectures got canceled today. Mikey's so fucking jealous.

"Have you seen a notebook anywhere?"

"What notebook?"

"A blue one."

"That doesn't really narrow it down."

Mikey turns to face him, and sighs again. "It's fucking blue and I need it, okay. I have a test later today."

Frank shrugs. "Sorry, dude. Maybe you left it somewhere?"

"Like, in class?" Mikey pushes his glasses up, and huffs. Oh, wait. "Wait. Shit, maybe I left it at Gerard's." He fumbles for his phone, fires off a quick text. He leans against the desk and waits for Gerard to reply. Gerard might be asleep, it's fucking ten in the morning. Mikey has no idea why Frank's awake if he doesn't even have a lecture. Mikey wishes he wasn't awake, but he had a thing at nine—fucking inhumane—and then he figured he'd at least get his shit together for the test before taking a nap.

It's three minutes later when he gets tired of waiting and just calls Gerard. Gerard answers with a muffled, "What?"

"Did I leave my notebook at your place?" Mikey asks, turning around to stare out their window. Gerard sounds sleepy, like he just woke up. He's probably still in bed.

"What?" Gerard asks again. "Mikey?"

Mikey sighs. "A blue notebook. Did I leave it at your place?"

"Uh, let me check." Mikey takes a deep breath and listens to Gerard rummaging around. "Dude, did you know that it's ten in the morning?"

"Yes," Mikey says.

" _Why_?" Gerard asks, sounding betrayed.

"Be lucky I didn't call you at eight," Mikey says. "Did you find it?"

Gerard mumbles something that Mikey can't make out, something about early mornings and calling whenever, then says, "Oh, does it say Mr. Way inside?"

"Yeah," Mikey says. "That's it. Can you come and bring it to me?"

Gerard yawns loudly. "It's ten in the fucking am, Mikes. Can't you come here?"

Mikey grinds his teeth together, thinking. He does have the time, and he doesn't have any real reason to not go. He'll just swing by, it'll be quick. Or maybe Gerard will get him some coffee and they could talk about, like. Comic books. Something. He thinks he'd like that. "Yeah, okay. I'll call you when I'm there."

"Just come up," Gerard says. "I'll get coffee ready."

"Okay," Mikey says. "Um, see you." He hangs up and squeezes his eyes shut, then blinks rapidly to clear his vision. It doesn't work, maybe he should clean his glasses.

"Gerard has it?" Frank asks, and Mikey almost jumps. He takes a breath, and looks down at his phone.

"Yeah," he says. He pockets the phone, then notices that the sweatband on his right wrist has fallen down again, showing the start of a dark bruise. He tugs it back up. He should probably change into something with longer sleeves, just in case. He searches through the pile of clothes in his closet and finally finds a long-sleeved shirt that he can slip his current hoodie over. He changes and notes that the sleeves go just low enough, perfect. He sets the sweatbands on the shelf and makes a note to buy new ones.

He turns around and finds Frank looking at him curiously. "What?"

Frank shakes his head. "Nothing. Have fun."

Mikey rolls his eyes. "See you." He grabs his bag, and leaves, giving Frank a small wave from the doorway. Frank's a good dude.

~

Gerard's already through half a pot of coffee when Mikey gets to his place. He's sitting by the kitchen table and grins at Mikey when he walks in, waves him over.

"Come on," Gerard says. "Coffee." Mikey sits down while Gerard pulls up another mug and fills it, pushes it in front of Mikey.

Mikey takes a sip and makes a face—it's already lukewarm—then downs the rest.

"We have the place to ourselves," Gerard says, still grinning. "Matt's already at work."

Mikey nods, gives Gerard a little smile. He pours himself another cup. He hates how twitchy he feels.

"Mikey," Gerard says softly. Mikey waits for him to continue, but he doesn't, just stares at Mikey. Mikey lets out a breath and slowly sips on his second cup. Gerard looks down, fiddles with his mug. "So what've you been up to?"

Mikey shrugs. "School. Parties. Stuff."

Gerard nods. "You're looking after yourself, right?" He sounds so terribly sincere, and Mikey wishes he could—hate it. Something. "I mean, not just getting sick, but, you know. In general."

Mikey swallows. "Yeah. Yeah, Gee, I'm good."

Gerard smiles again, and takes another sip of his coffee. "So, hey," he says, "did you see the new Batman?"

"Shit, yeah. Fuck, I haven't even gotten to discuss it with someone, Frank hasn't read it yet."

"Well," Gerard says, and looks down, pulls at his cuticles. "I'm always here."

Shit. "I—no, I know." And Mikey does, but he just—Gerard's not in the same house any more, not in the same _space_ , and Mikey thought it'd be different, be _better_ , now that they were both in the city, but it's not. He doesn't know how to fix it. He doesn't know how to fix that thing inside of him that notices stuff like how good Gerard looks right now, his hair mussed from sleep, his face soft and tired.

Gerard shakes his head. "Never mind. So what did you think?"

Mikey smiles and leans forward, getting into it. They go through two pots of coffee and Mikey eventually hits the point where he's just feeling jittery. He pauses mid-thought and checks the time on his phone, surprised to see they've been talking about Batman for almost a full hour. "Shit, I should go. You have the notebook?"

Gerard inclines his head. "In my room. I'll go get it, I put it somewhere where I could find it."

Mikey rolls his eyes, and Gerard smiles and gets up from the table. Mikey leans back on his chair and waits; it's fucking hot in the kitchen, and he hates the thought of going back outside into the cold. Maybe if forty-five minutes can pass unnoticed then he and Gerard haven't drifted as far as he thought. Maybe he hasn't screwed everything up.

"I still don't know why you're taking that class." Gerard walks back into the kitchen and drops the notebook in front of Mikey. "I mean—shit, Mikey, what _happened_?"

Mikey blinks. He's just reaching out for the notebook, and—fuck. _Fuck_. He must have pushed his sleeves up, not even noticing, because he was getting so fucking hot. He hastily pulls the sleeve on his right hand down again, but Gerard's already stepping closer and reaching for his left hand. Mikey wrenches his hand away, presses them both against his chest.

"Who did this to you?" Gerard asks, his voice steely. He's still looking at Mikey's wrists, now covered.

Mikey swallows hard. "It's nothing."

Gerard looks up, right into Mikey's eyes. He's gone so pale. "Mikey."

"It's _fine_ ," Mikey says. "It's just a kink thing." He presses his lips together, stares back at Gerard.

Gerard blinks, then frowns. "What?"

Mikey huffs out a breath. "It's a kink thing, okay. I got Travie to—"

"Travie?" Gerard asks, sounding confused.

Shit. "Yeah, he just—"

"What the fuck, Mikey?" Mikey narrows his eyes, and Gerard repeats, "What the fuck did he do?"

"I fucking _asked_ him to, okay," Mikey says. He moves back, making the chair screech against the floor, and gets up and turns away from Gerard. "It's nothing."

"Obviously it's not _nothing_ ," Gerard says. He sounds pissed off, now. Mikey can fucking relate. Of course this is how Gerard would react, of fucking course.

Mikey takes a deep breath and crosses his arms over his chest, then turns around. "It's just something I'm into," he says, staring at the floor.

"Mikey," Gerard says, and Mikey raises his eyes. Gerard looks worried, and that's not what Mikey fucking wants, not at all. "Come on, you can't—okay, fine, it's a kink thing, I guess, but you can't say it's _fine_."

Mikey narrows his eyes. "It is. It's not a big deal."

"Then why the fuck did you _hide_ it from me?" Gerard asks, clearly frustrated.

"Not everyone needs to know."

Gerard steps back, looking like he's been slapped. Fuck. _Fuck_. Gerard looks away. "Right," he says, and rubs at his face. "Okay."

"Gerard," Mikey says.

"No," Gerard says. "Whatever, I fucking get it." His voice has gone cold. "Do whatever the fuck you want."

Mikey laughs. "Really? Wow, thanks for giving me permission."

Gerard looks back, eyes narrowed. "Well, you obviously don't care what I think, so, yeah. I mean, you didn't care enough to tell me."

"I think it's pretty obvious why I didn't tell you," Mikey says. "Why the fuck are you attacking me over this?"

"I'm not _attacking_ you, jesus fuck, Mikey." Gerard's raising his voice now. Mikey doesn't have time for this.

"I need to go," he says. "I have a test in, like, thirty minutes."

"Fine, we'll talk about it later," Gerard says.

" _Why_?" Mikey asks. He knows he probably sounds childish, but there's no reason for them to have any sort of conversation about this. "I'm fine, you don't have to worry about it. And it's not your business."

"It is my business if you get hurt!"

"I _like_ it," Mikey grits out. "Just fucking let me have this, okay? This isn't about you."

Gerard's face changes, but Mikey doesn't have time to talk about this—he doesn't fucking _want_ to talk about this or even think about it. There's so fucking much he can never say, anyway. "I have to go," he says. He grabs his bag and heads for the door.

"Mikey."

Mikey stops at the door and waits. Gerard doesn't say anything else. Fuck it, Mikey's not gonna turn around.

He opens the door and leaves. The door slams shut behind him and he winces, tugs at the strap of his bag. He swallows hard and sets down the stairs. He's gonna be so fucking late and then all of this will be—fuck. He didn't think Gerard would react like this. Mikey knew, though, he knew that Gerard would feel betrayed. And Mikey still lashed out, hurt him even more.

The fight goes out of him then and there's nothing left but the look on Gerard's face, the way his voice sounded. How Mikey wanted to kiss him before all of this and still does.

Mikey pushes his glasses up, pulls his coat tighter and sets out to the subway. It's started to rain while he was at Gerard's. Mikey's stomach aches. He pulls his shoulders up and tries not to think any more.

~

The next few days suck. He flunks his big test, snaps at Frank for no reason, therefore pissing off Jamia, and he _can't fucking sleep_. He doesn't usually get insomnia, just nightmares, but now he has both when he tries to sleep during the night. So he switches to sleeping during the day, when he can get away with it. He knows it must be bothering Frank, but Frank doesn't say anything. Frank's a good dude.

Gerard doesn't text or call.

They've always tried to text each other at least once a day, at least to let the other know they're still alive. Or at least that's why Mikey did it, sometimes. (And that's what Gerard's texts meant to him.)

Looks like Gerard isn't worried about that, though, because he doesn't get in touch till it's next week and almost Thanskgiving. He shoots Mikey a text early in the morning on Tuesday and suggests they take the train home together on Wednesday. The text wakes Mikey up and he's too tired to think about it, so he just sends back "ok", then ends up falling back asleep.

Later he curses himself and wonders if he can make up some sort of excuse, but that would probably be too childish and weird. They're both gonna be stuck at home for the weekend anyway, and really, this isn't even the worst fight they've had. Mikey's not sure why it seems to be lasting so long.

On Wednesday morning, though, it turns out that Frank's planning on taking the same train home. Mikey is supposed to meet Gerard at the station anyway, so he doesn't hesitate to share a cab with Frank.

Frank's in a good mood, and it's kind of contagious, so they end up chatting about Thanksgiving plans and new records and movies while they wait.

Gerard's almost late in getting to the station, arriving just as the train is pulling up, so they rush in before greetings. Frank claims a single seat in the front, leaving a double open right behind him for Mikey and Gerard. Mikey takes the window seat and drops his bag, mentally preparing for a super fucking awkward train ride, but Gerard sits down and immediately asks him how his week was.

Mikey blinks at him. "Fine?"

It takes him a minute staring at Gerard's earnest and hopeful face to realize that Gerard's trying to pretend that nothing happened. Fuck.

"Uh, how was yours?" Mikey asks. So, still fucking awkward, just not in the way he thought.

"Good," Gerard says. "Well, not that good, but I got a lot done on a project."

Mikey doesn't say anything and eventually Frank chimes in. "That's cool. What's it about?"

Gerard gives Mikey one fleeting glance before focusing on Frank and showering him with the details of his latest project. Mikey realizes quickly he's heard it all before—which is still comforting—so he lets it wash over him. The rest of the ride is a blur and soon they're home with their mother fussing over them in her own special way.

After lunch Gerard claims he's tired and heads downstairs to his room. He throws Mikey a look before he goes. Mikey can't read it. He considers following, but then he remembers how Gerard looked when he had just gotten up that morning when they fought, how his eyes were tired and warm, and his stomach goes tight.

He promises his mom he'll help her with dinner tomorrow and goes to his own room. Being home is fucking weird, and Gerard ignoring things is weird, and Mikey doesn't know how the weekend is gonna go.

~

Gerard doesn't come up for breakfast the next morning, but appears for lunch, claiming he was working on his project.

"I didn't think you brought any of your stuff," Mikey says. Gerard's bag had been pretty light, he definitely hadn't brought any of his supplies.

"I was designing some new stuff," Gerard says. "For the project. Do you wanna see?"

"Maybe later," Mikey says. He's kind of pissed off now. Is Gerard really not gonna apologize? Mikey sure as hell isn't gonna bring it up. The marks on his wrists have mostly faded, and it's hot in the kitchen, so he's wearing a t-shirt. It's an opening, he guesses, but Gerard doesn't say anything.

Things get busy when some of their family arrives, making ignoring each other even easier. Mikey pretty much tries to avoid everyone, but people still find him and ask him how college is going and what he's thinking about doing with his life. He bullshits them as best as he can—Gerard has always been a bit better at that—and makes his escape, only to be cornered again.

It's only to Elena that he admits he doesn't actually _know_ what to do. She's sitting in a corner watching a movie on the small TV, and Mikey finds himself at her side, quietly confessing he has no clue what's going on in his life right now. He doesn't mention he means that in a wider sense than just college, but she can probably guess.

She's ever comforting, as she is, and even if all she says is, "You'll figure it out, dear," it helps.

"But what if I don't? What if things just stay this weird and fu—messed up forever?"

She gives him a soft look. "Things always change, Mikey. They never stay the same."

Mikey swallows hard and looks around the living room. He's not consciously looking for Gerard, but he finds him, chatting with aunt Mary on the other side of the room. He looks a bit uncomfortable and nervous, too.

Mikey breathes out. "Thanks, Grandma."

She squeezes his shoulder, which helps too. Then uncle Dave is heading their way, and Mikey gets up, gives her a kiss on the cheek and escapes to the kitchen.

He and Gerard end up sitting side by side at dinner, as always, and Gerard doesn't say much and only speaks up when someone asks him something. His eyes are serious, and Mikey remembers suddenly that it's supposed to be them against the world, against everything. The two of them, together—that's how it's always been and that's how everyone here still sees them. It makes his throat go tight at first, but Gerard brushes against his arm when reaching for mashed potatoes and whispers, "Fuck, aunt Stella made her stuffing again," and Mikey relaxes and piles the stuffing on his plate.

The rest of the dinner is uneventful. Mikey eats too much, and he doesn't resist when Gerard snags his elbow and pulls him downstairs to Gerard's bedroom after dessert. Gerard heads over to his desk, where his sketchbook is, so Mikey takes the opportunity and lies down on his back on Gerard's bed and concentrates on breathing. He feels like he's gonna throw up if he makes any sudden movements.

"You okay?" Gerard asks.

"Uhuh." Mikey squeezes his eyes closed and breathes out slowly. He must fall asleep because he wakes up with the nausea gone but his stomach screaming at him. He winces and flips over to his side, curling up. Gerard's still at his desk. He's not drawing anymore, though, is just staring at his wall and tapping the pencil against his sketchbook.

Mikey considers asking him what he's thinking. But he's not sure if he wants to know. He should probably get up and go to his own bedroom. Instead he presses a hand to his belly and drifts off again.

He startles awake when Gerard turns on the TV. It's turned up loud, and Gerard manages to hit a channel that's in the middle of a slasher flick, so for a while there's just the sound of screaming.

"Shit, shit, sorry," Gerard says, turning the volume down. "Go back to sleep." He's sitting on the end of the bed. Mikey pulls his legs up even higher, and swallows hard. Fuck, he's so fucked up.

"It's fine," he says, and slowly sits up. His stomach's already feeling better, if slightly uncomfortable. "I'm gonna go upstairs."

"Wait," Gerard says, turning around fast. "I need to talk to you."

Mikey shuffles around so he's sitting cross-legged and crosses his arms over his belly. "About what?"

Gerard bites his lip and turns even more toward Mikey. "I wanted to apologize," he says, voice firm.

Mikey blinks, and doesn't say anything. He knows he could ask Gerard what he's apologizing about or just accept it and move on, but Gerard was kind of a dick about the whole thing, so it's only fair he works for it. Plus he probably has a speech prepared.

"I shouldn't have gotten angry," Gerard says. "And I shouldn't have yelled at you and not listened to you when you said it was fine. I'm sorry."

It does sound rehearsed, but that's fine. It means Gerard was worrying about this, too. "Okay," Mikey says, then, when Gerard doesn't go on. "Thanks."

"It's just—" Gerard starts. "It's just, I got scared, okay. You didn't tell me about it."

"So?" Mikey shrugs. "It's not, like, a big deal. I don't have to tell you everything."

"You used to," Gerard says, and Mikey closes his eyes. "And fuck, it's not even that, but you fucking _hid_ it from me."

Mikey shakes his head, opens his eyes and looks at Gerard. Gerard looks sad, pissed off. Tired. Mikey feels tired. "It's not that. I just—I don't have to tell you everything about my sex life, you know. It's weird."

Gerard huffs and looks away.

Mikey squeezes himself tighter. "Do you think other brothers talk to each other about this shit?"

Gerard looks back at him, frowning. "I don't give a shit about what other brothers talk about. I care about _you_. Mikey, this could be dangerous."

It's Mikey's turn to roll his eyes. "It's _Travie_ ," he says. "You know Travie. And we're not doing like really dangerous shit or anything."

Gerard sighs. "Fine." He pauses. "Just remember, you don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"I know," Mikey says. He rubs at his face and cracks his neck. "Can I go now?"

Gerard stares at him. "What? Are you asking to be excused?"

"I just meant—"

"This isn't a fucking lecture or anything, I just wanted to make sure you were _okay_."

"And I am," Mikey says, raising his voice a little. Fuck. "I just wanted to know if the conversation was over, shit. I'm tired, and my stomach hurts, and I'm still annoyed at you. Sorry."

Gerard deflates at that. "Sorry," he echoes back. "I really didn't mean to blow up at you like that back at my place, okay?"

"Yeah," Mikey says. He doesn't ask whether Gerard meant to ignore him after that. He doesn't want to know. "I know." He pushes himself off the bed and heads toward the door.

"Feel better," Gerard calls after him. "Love you."

Mikey freezes for just a second. "Yeah." He can't fucking say it back. He swallows hard, feeling slightly sick again and leaves.

~

"Can I, like, get you anything?" Pete asks.

Mikey looks around the large living room and shrugs. "No, I'm good."

Pete said he didn't want to do it in his dorm, and brought him here instead—an apartment that Pete's parents are renting out. It's fancy, and no one's living her at the moment—Mikey's not sure why _Pete_ isn't living here—so it's bleak. But if Pete feels more comfortable here than at the dorm then that's all that matters.

"You sure?" Pete asks. "I think there's still something in the fridge. Or, like, water."

His voice is doing that thing where it's not really shaking, but rather it sounds close to breaking, even though it never does. Pete's nervous. Mikey's nervous, too, but it's his job to calm Pete down and make sure everything goes okay.

"No, I'm—wait." Mikey pauses. "Yeah, water?"

Pete nods and heads off to the kitchen. He returns with a glass of water; Mikey takes it and gives him a small smile. Pete squints at him. "You're not gonna drink it?"

"It's for later," Mikey says. "Or, like, just in case."

"Oh," Pete says. "Okay."

"Come on," Mikey says. "Let's get started. You ready?"

Pete nods fast. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. Uh, the bedroom's here. Take off your shoes, okay?"

Mikey kicks his boots off, grabs his bag, and follows Pete.

"I'm sorry this took so long," Mikey says. He called Pete up right after Thanksgiving, cursing himself for not doing it sooner, he promised Pete _ages_ ago. Now it was a week after that, and, well, here they are. "You know, if you've changed your mind in meantime..."

"I haven't," Pete says. "I want to do this, okay?"

Mikey swallows and nods. "Okay. Shirt on or off?"

"Aren't you supposed to decide that?"

Mikey pauses briefly. "No. This is up to you."

"Oh," Pete says, brow furrowing. "Okay. Um, on."

"Pants?" Mikey asks.

"Uh. Do I really have to decide?"

Mikey bites his lip. "Do you want it to—do you want it to be, like, sex, or do you just want me to tie you up?"

Pete stares at him, eyes wide, like he didn't know that there were options. Shit, Mikey should have cleared this up sooner.

"Second," Pete says. "And pants on." He seems more sure of himself now.

Mikey nods. "Okay. So I'll tie you up, not touch you, and then untie you after a bit, okay?"

"Yes," Pete says. "Yeah, okay."

Mikey nods again. "Take your jacket off and get on the bed."

Pete obeys immediately; Mikey gets out the rope and looks around the room. There's a chair he can sit on while he waits—Travie said he shouldn't leave Pete alone, and Mikey's not planning to. Travie also taught him how to do a decent knot that can be untangled fast if there are problems. Mikey really hopes there won't be any problems.

Still, he gets his phone out sets it on the nightstand, so he knows where it is and it'll be in reach.

Pete's sitting on the bed, hands in lap, looking up at Mikey with wide, dark eyes. Pete's beautiful and when Mikey runs his gaze over his face he remembers the first time they hooked up, in some stranger's bedroom at a party. Someone had almost caught them, but the chair they'd pushed in front of the door had held and Pete had laughed, bright and relieved. Afterward, Mikey found Gerard smoking out on the terrace, and they smoked together until they felt like they were ready to leave. Gerard had just gotten these weird blueish green stripes in his hair and he'd been smiling. Mikey's not sure why or how he remembers that particular detail.

He shakes his head and focuses on Pete. Pete is so fucking gorgeous, and fragile, and Mikey knows they'd be great together—before they'd inevitably break.

It's one of the reasons he's glad he can do this for Pete—because Pete deserves good things—while also knowing it's good he's not gonna lean in and kiss Pete, not this time.

Pete keeps looking at him, not saying anything, and Mikey wonders what he sees. He pushes that away as well and says, "Turn to face the head of the bed and kneel."

Pete shuffles around, and Mikey nods, approving, even though Pete can't see him.

"Place your hands behind your back."

Tying Pete up doesn't take long—Mikey practiced the knot at home, and it goes right the first time. He tightens it and leans back. "How does that feel?"

Pete moves his shoulders and arms, testing it. "Good," he says. "Really good." His voice has already changed; he sounds slightly out of breath.

"It's not too tight?"

"No, it's good," Pete says.

"And your shoulders? Not too tense or anything?"

"It's good," Pete repeats.

"Okay," Mikey says. "I'm gonna get up now and sit here next to the bed. I'm not gonna leave the room. If you need to stop then tell me right away." Pete doesn't reply and Mikey remembers to ask, "Do you understand?"

"Yes," Pete says.

Mikey gets up slowly, trying not to jostle the bed too much, and sits down in the chair next to the bed. Pete stays kneeling, his hands behind his back, his eyes closed. There's a slight tension to him, like if Mikey touched him he'd shatter. Mikey can see the moment he just gives in, though, and the way his body relaxes.

For a moment Mikey's hit with a quiet panic—how does he know when to untie Pete? If Pete never says anything, what the fuck then? It's not like when Travie untied him after fucking him, this is not the same thing at all. He digs his fingers into his thigh and breathes. He'll just have to set a time limit. They should have agreed on it but there's nothing he can do about that now. Pets's quiet and calm and Mikey's not gonna break that.

He's thinking maybe ten to twenty minutes. Fifteen? Maybe fifteen. There's a clock in the room, ticking down. Mikey can't see it, thought—he reaches out and takes his phone instead. Fifteen minutes. Shit, is that too long? Or would it not be enough? Pete's breathing steady, his head bowed. He's good. Mikey looks at the time, and sends a quick text to Travie, turning his phone on silent after.

 _sounds good,_ Travie sends back. _just keep an eye on him and end it earlier if anything changes_

Mikey swallows and clutches the phone tighter. Yeah, he can do that. He breathes in deep and focuses on Pete. Pete's not straining or making any sound. Mikey would think he's fallen asleep, but he's sure Pete would fall down onto the bed in that case.

He sits forward, narrowing his eyes. He has to be ready, in case something like that _does_ happen. Pete could fall on his side and mess up his shoulder, or something worse. The clock quietly ticking makes Mikey feel even more on edge, but at least it doesn't let him lose his focus. Pete's breathing is steady, his shoulders rising and falling slowly. Mikey waits.

They're almost fifteen minutes in when something in Pete's posture changes. He turns his head and takes in a sharp breath. Mikey stands up fast.

"Pete?"

Pete doesn't react, but his breathing's different now. Mikey steps forward and slowly reaches out for Pete's shoulder. Pete's whole body is tense; fuck, Mikey should have told him he was gonna touch him, he forgot. Pete doesn't move or pull away, though, and Mikey reaches behind him and frees his hands. It's then when all tension suddenly goes out of Pete's body and he falls against Mikey. Mikey wraps his arms around Pete and gently starts running his hand through Pete's hair and down over his shoulders.

"Pete? Pete, hey, can you hear me?"

Pete makes a soft noise, but doesn't say anything. Mikey swallows hard and repeats the question. He didn't expect Pete to go under like that.

"Pete," Mikey repeats, trying to keep his voice calm. "Pete, tell me how you feel."

Pete makes another soft noise, like the sound that a tired cat would make, and coughs.

"Shit," Mikey says. "Hold on, Pete." He keeps one arm around Pete and reaches for the nightstand. "Here, drink this slowly." He holds the glass to Pete's lips. That seems to help bring Pete closer to awareness and he tries to lift his hand.

"Easy," Mikey says. "Let me help, it's okay."

He tilts Pete's head back and like that they manage to get half of the water down. Mikey puts the glass back on the nighstand and starts rubbing at Pete's wrists, keeping one hand firmly on Pete's shoulder.

"You okay, Pete?" he asks.

"Yeah," Pete says, and Mikey breathes in deep. Thank fuck.

"Good," Mikey says. "How do you feel? Sore?"

"Tired," Pete says. His voice is weak and spaced out.

"That's okay," Mikey says. "You should get some sleep." He helps Pete lie down and brushes his hair back, feeling his forehead. Pete's easy to pet; he's like a cat and Mikey never feels weird about it. He sits back, but keeps touching Pete, maintains that contact. Pete's eyes are open, but he's not looking at Mikey. He's staring at the wall instead.

"Pete?" Mikey asks. "Did you like that?"

"Yeah," Pete says softly. "I liked it." He sounds sincere, and Mikey breathes out and keeps gently massaging Pete's shoulders.

"I'm tired," Pete says again. "But I feel really good. Tired."

"That's good," Mikey says.

"It's quiet."

"Yeah," Mikey says. "Do you want more water?"

"Later," Pete says. Mikey swallows hard and pets Pete's head. He has to get Pete more water, at least another glass, probably. But he's not sure if he should leave Pete alone, even when he falls asleep. Should he lie down next to Pete? How close? He should ask Pete. And they should get Pete's shirt and jeans off, so he'd be more comfortable.

Pete's still slowly coming out of it, and Mikey's not sure what he should do. Or what he _can_ do.

He takes in a deep breath and tries not to panic. He can't do this. He _can't_ do this, what the fuck is he gonna do?

"Mikey?" Pete asks. His voice has changed. "Is something wrong? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Mikey says, stroking Pete's hand. "It's okay."

"Are you sure?" Pete asks. He sounds young.

"Yeah," Mikey says, and swallows. He has one idea, just one. He hopes it'll work. "Hey, Pete?"

"Yeah?"

"How would you feel if I called Gabe and he came by?"

"Oh," Pete says, and Mikey can feel him relax. "Yeah. Gabe. You should do that."

"Yeah?"

"Uhuh," Pete says, voice soft again. "Gabe."

Mikey exhales slowly and reaches for his phone.

~

Gabe gets there surprisingly fast. He'd known immediately what place Mikey was talking about, so all Mikey has to do is open the door for him. He doesn't wait for Gabe to come in or say anything, and heads right back to the bedroom, wary of leaving Pete alone for even this long.

Pete seems to be somewhere between awake and not; his eyes are open but he doesn't react to Mikey sitting down on the bed again. Mikey breathes in slowly and only looks up when Gabe walks in.

"Hey," Gabe says quietly. "You guys okay?" He seems very serious, but calm. It's good. It's like his presence helps Mikey feel more in control.

"Yeah," Mikey says. "How about you, Pete?"

"Good," Pete says. "Tired. Hi, Gabe."

"Hey," Gabe says, and steps closer. Mikey inclines his head and Gabe sits down on the bed. "Hey, Petey," Gabe says.

Pete blinks at him and smiles. Mikey has to look away.

He takes in a deep breath, and says, "I'm gonna get water. Be right back." He pauses before leaving, hesitating. He feels weird about doing this, but— "Keep him calm and safe, okay?"

Gabe doesn't call him on being obvious or patronizing, though, and just nods. Mikey escapes to the kitchen; he leans against the counter and just breathes. He needs water, too. And a fucking nap.

He drinks his water and tries to relax, but all his focus is still on the bedroom and Pete. He doesn't hear any noises.

He gets water for both Pete and Gabe and walks back out. Gabe is now sitting where Mikey was before. He's not petting Pete but his hand is resting on his back. Pete's eyes are closed.

Mikey sets the glasses down on the nightstand, and Gabe looks at him. "So," Gabe says quietly. "What exactly did you call me here for?"

"To help me take care of him?" Mikey wants to say, "To take over taking care of him," but he's not that much of an asshole. Or maybe that's not being an asshole. Maybe that's just being honest.

Gabe nods slowly. "I can do that."

Mikey runs a hand over his face and cracks his neck. Gabe's here now, he can do this. "Let's get his jeans off? So he'll be more comfortable."

Gabe turns to Pete and softly touches his hair. "Hey, Petey," he says. "We're gonna take your jeans off so you can sleep better. That okay?"

Mikey clenches his teeth. Of course, he should have asked Pete first. Pete nods and turns to lie on his back. They ease his jeans off and Mikey folds them up and sets them down on the chair. Gabe gets Pete under the covers, and sits back down on the bed, his hand resting on Pete's side.

Mikey clears his throat and Gabe looks over. His eyes are so gentle. "Hey," Gabe says. "You can leave if you want to."

Mikey automatically shakes his head. "No, I should—"

"You can go," Gabe says. "You did good, okay."

Mikey swallows hard. "That's not—this was about Pete."

"I know," Gabe says, and looks at Pete, moving his hand up to Pete's shoulder. "I'm gonna stay and look after him. You can go."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Gabe says. He looks back at Mikey. "Come here for a sec." He stands up and pulls Mikey into a brief hug. "Thanks," he says.

"Why?" Mikey asks. Gabe doesn't answer, just sits back down on the bed, his hand reaching out for Pete, and Mikey knows.

He grabs his stuff, and looks back on the door. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Gabe says. "It's okay, go."

"Um, are you gonna come lock the door?"

"It's an automatic," Gabe says.

"Huh." Mikey hadn't noticed that. "Okay. So. Bye. Bye, Pete."

Pete doesn't respond; he seems to be asleep. "Bye," Gabe says. "See you, dude."

Mikey nods, and leaves. The door does lock after him. He leans his back against it and breathes. It's okay, Gabe will look after Pete. And Pete is fine, he's okay. He tries to shake himself out of it and takes a couple of deep breathes. He checks his phone. There's a new text from Frank: _Hey, heads up, I have J over. We'll clear out by 1am, though._

Mikey stares at the text, frowning. That gives him a couple of hours to find something to do. He closes his eyes and rubs a hand over them.

He could probably go by Gerard's. It's not far from here. Maybe Gerard can make him coffee, or at least he'll let Mikey make himself some. Frank always makes faces when Mikey drinks coffee this late, which is weird, because Frank loves coffee too, and he's far more all over the place than Mikey is. Which is probably why he doesn't need the coffee, but still.

The point is that Gerard doesn't deny him coffee, and for that Mikey loves him. He'll come by, they'll drink coffee, and then Mikey will go home. It's a plan. He pockets his phone and heads off.

He's tired by the time he gets to Gerard's, and he has to pound on the door for a good minute before it opens.

"Hey," Matt says. "Gerard's not here."

"Oh," Mikey says. He thinks he can wait for him, it won't be a big deal. "Um."

"So," Matt. "See you." He closes the door. Mikey frowns. What?

He stands there for a bit, then realizes he doesn't actually have to do that, and pulls out his phone.

_hey, where are you?_

He leans against the wall next to Gerard's apartment and waits for him to respond. He closes his eyes, breathes in deep. He's zoning out when his phone buzzes, startling him.

_at the diner on Cameron_

Mikey takes another deep breath and juggles his phone. It's not far and the weather's not too bad. He already made it this far. There's no point in turning back now.

~

Mikey notices Gerard right away, far in the corner of the diner. He's sitting facing the door, so it's not hard for Mikey's gaze to fall on him. He stands at the door for a moment or two, waiting to see if Gerard will spot him, too. He's with friends, it seems.

Mikey shakes his head and walks closer. There's Travie and some other people Mikey can't place. And Gerard. Mikey didn't know Gerard hung out with Travie. They know each other, of course, and pretty well, but to Mikey's knowledge this isn't like a regular thing. Travie seems to be there with Victoria, though, which explains it. This whole city is too fucking small. Gerard looks up when Mikey's almost at the table, his eyes going wide when he sees Mikey.

"Hey, Gee."

"Mikey." Gerard smiles and gets up. "What are you doing here?"

Mikey looks around the diner. What? "Uh, I can go?"

"No, no," Gerard says. "I just didn't expect to see you."

Mikey furrows his brow. "I asked where you were."

"Yeah, but you didn't say you were coming over. I mean, this is out of your usual way."

"I was at your apartment," Mikey says. "I thought I'd wait for you. Matt wouldn't let me in."

"He what?" Gerard frowns. "That fucker. Wait, why are you here?"

Mikey looks down and shrugs. He doesn't even know why he came anymore. Gerard's obviously not thrilled to see him.

"Is something wrong?" Gerard asks. Mikey looks over to the booth—everyone's looking at them, which is kind of rude. Can't they at least pretend they're not listening? "Hey, give us a minute, okay," Gerard tells them and steps away from the table, inclining his head. Mikey hears one of guys ask something and Travie respond, "That's his brother." It makes him feel weirdly hollow inside. 

He follows Gerard to the small two-stall bathroom. Gerard closes the door and Mikey leans against the sink. "Mikey, are you okay?"

Mikey shrugs. "I'm fine." He notices suddenly that Gerard's standing uncharacteristically far away. Mikey feels cold. The light in the bathroom is too bright, and it's making his skin tight and itchy.

"Are you sure?" Gerard presses. "Did something happen?"

Mikey shakes his head. "Just tired." He blinks slowly and wraps his arms around himself.

"Mikey," Gerard says, with the tone of voice he always uses when he's trying Mikey to confess to something. "You can tell me."

"I'm really fine," Mikey says. He doesn't really feel like talking about it, but Gerard probably won't let up, and Mikey does hate worrying him. "Just a scene with Pete. It kind of wore me out."

He looks up to catch Gerard frowning. "A scene? Did he hurt you?"

"No," Mikey says quickly. "Nothing like that, Gee, I promise. We just tried some stuff, and it was tiring. But it was—" He shrugs one shoulder. "Good."

"Oh," Gerard says, and looks down. Mikey closes his eyes briefly. He's starting to shiver, that cold that seeps in when you're just so _tired_. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

Mikey shrugs. "He—he wanted something." He doesn't want to give Gerard any details. Travie was different, Travie knows Pete better, Travie already knew about it. Mikey isn't sure if Pete wants other people to know. "So we tried it."

"Did it go okay?"

"Yeah," Mikey says. "I think he liked it. I could give him what he asked for, you know? What he wanted."

"Did you like it?" Gerard asks carefully.

Mikey nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I did. It was just—I'm so tired now."

"Okay," Gerard says. "Okay. Why didn't you go home? You're drooping on your feet."

"Frank's with J. At our place," Mikey says. "I was gonna come by yours and get coffee. And then I could head back." 

Considering how surprised Gerard was to see him, he's rethinking that plan, though. He doesn't want to bug Gerard or worry him any longer. It's like that's all he's good for lately. Ignoring Gerard, and worrying him.

"I think they might be gone by now, actually," he says. "And I could get coffee from here, you know? So I'm gonna—"

"No, hey," Gerard says. "Let's just—let's go home, okay?"

Mikey looks up.

Gerard meets his eyes—he looks determined. "Come on," he says, and reaches out, brushes his hand against Mikey's arm. "You can crash at my place."

Mikey blinks, then shakes his head. "That's okay."

Gerard rolls his eyes and steps closer. "Not up for discussion, Mikey Way," he says. "I can't let you go back to yours like this. Let's go." He tugs at Mikey's sleeve and Mikey pushes away from the sink. He stumbles a little and Gerard wraps his arm around Mikey's back, steadying him. "You sure you're okay?"

Mikey nods. "Just tired. Promise."

"Okay," Gerard says, and squeezes him. He's warm, and his arm is solid around Mikey's back. It feels nice. Mikey's head feels kind of fuzzy. He blinks slowly and lets Gerard lead him out of the bathroom and into the less harsh light of the diner.

"Hey, guys, we're gonna head home," Gerard says to the guys at the booth.

Mikey thinks someone asks him something, but he can already feel his eyelids growing heavy, and all his concentration currently is on keeping his eyes open.

"He's fine," he hears Gerard say, accompanied by a squeeze of Mikey's shoulder. "He's just really tired. See you guys later."

The guys nod, and Gerard gently pushes at Mikey's shoulder, so Mikey starts moving again. They're almost at the door when someone says, "Hey, Mikey Way."

Mikey blinks as Travie steps in front of him, and places his hand on Mikey's other arm. "You sure you're okay?"

Mikey nods, says, "I'm good."

"Hey," Travie says, and gently tilts Mikey's head up, a finger under his chin so Mikey has to look him in the eye. Travie has good eyes. "You sure, baby?"

"Yeah," Mikey says, and swallows. "Me and Pete. That thing I told you about."

Travie frowns. "How'd it go?"

"Good," Mikey says. "It was good. It went well, I think. He seemed to like it." He swallows, then says, "It was just tiring."

Travie nods. "Yeah, I get you. Okay, if you're sure you're okay..."

"He's fine," Gerard says. Mikey's surprised he managed to stay quiet this long. "He said he's fine."

Travie raises his eyebrow in Gerard's direction. "Chill, Geeway. I heard him."

Gerard doesn't say anything, but he squeezes Mikey's shoulder again.

"What about Pete?" Travie asks.

Mikey nods. "He's okay. We got him to sleep."

"We?"

"I had Gabe come over," Mikey says.

"Nice," Travie says. "Okay, okay, I won't keep you. Go get some rest." He leans down and presses his lips to Mikey's forehead. "Take care."

Mikey doesn't remember much from the walk to Gerard's place. By the time they get to the apartment building he's swaying on his feet and his eyes keep slipping shut.

"Come on," Gerard says. He has his arm under Mikey's elbow. "Step, don't trip. Don't fall asleep yet, Mikes."

Mikey hums, letting Gerard walk him up the stairs. He leans against the wall, waiting for Gerard gets the door open. The next thing he registers is Gerard's bedroom. A bed, fuck yeah. Mikey immediately heads for it and lets himself collapse on it.

"Mikey, wait, your shoes," Gerard says, but Mikey's already slipping away.

~

The first thing Mikey becomes aware of is a cold breeze touching his shoulder. That's weird, Frank usually doesn't open the window in the morning, since they both get cold easily. He burrows down farther into the covers, trying to fall back asleep, but it's not gonna work, especially when he realizes his dick is hard. He slowly slides his hand underneath the sheets and into his briefs—if he's careful then Frank won't notice. He's got his hand wrapped around the shaft when there's a soft noise right next to him.

He opens his eyes and remembers with a start that he's not in his own bed at the dorm at all. And his brother is right fucking there, and Mikey has his hand on his dick, ready to jerk off. Fuck. _Fuck_.

He pulls his hand away and quickly scrambles back on the bed, not looking away from Gerard's face. Gerard seems to be deeply asleep, his breathing heavy and his mouth slightly parted.

Mikey turns and looks at the nightstand, trying to find his glasses. They're there, carefully folded away and at a safe distance from the edge and any wandering hands. Mikey puts them on and runs a hand through his hair. Fuck.

Gerard lets out a soft groan and turns over to his side, his hand falling to where Mikey was sleeping, reaching out. His hair is a mess, sticking up on one side, and there's dried spit in the corner of his mouth. Mikey loves him.

He swallows and quickly gets out of the bed. His jeans and jacket are on the chair next to the bed. He doesn't remember undressing before falling asleep. Which means Gerard must have done it for him. Mikey knows the thought shouldn't make him feel weird—they've done that for each other many a night when one has been drunker or more tired or fucked up than the other. He _knows_ it shouldn't, but he can't help it.

He gets dressed quickly, grabs his bag, shoots Gerard one last look, and leaves. He doesn't stop before he gets to his dorm. He makes coffee, then takes a shower. He jerks off trying to think about, god, _anyone_ else. Travie or Gabe, even Frank and Jamia, he'd be up for that if they were interested. He still comes while remembering Gerard's face earlier—asleep, calm, and so fucking beautiful.

He cleans himself off and drinks more coffee, then gets out the notes he needs to study for his next test.

He thinks about it, then sends Gerard a text letting him know he got home safe. He doesn't want Gerard to worry any more, not like before, not like last night. Gerard shouldn't have to worry about him, and Mikey shouldn't go running to him so often. Especially not when it ends with Gerard letting him lean on him, with Gerard's arm around Mikey, supporting him as he walks. Mikey fucking _wants_ it, wants the contact, wants Gerard to do that, but it's so unfair to Gerard that he doesn't know how much Mikey wants it.

Mikey sighs and takes his glasses off and rubs at his eyes, shakes his head. He just has to try harder to ignore this. That's all. He checks his phone—Gerard hasn't texted him back, of course, it's still early and he probably won't get up for hours. Mikey frowns at himself, puts the phone away and tries to get to work.

~

Ignoring it, and Gerard by association, is surprisingly easy to do. For one, he actually does have enough experience with it that he can manage it pretty well, especially when Gerard isn't around. And with finals he's busy enough that he doesn't see Gerard until it's Christmas break.

It will be tougher when they're both home, of course, but whatever. Mikey's gonna do his best to pretend things are fine. They're fixed. Gerard knows about the kink thing, so there are no more secrets between then, so that's how Mikey's gonna act like. It's all fine.

He does well at first, too—the first few days are busy and tiring, they're visiting family and have people over and stuff. Gerard's stressing out about his project, almost having a meltdown one night, but Elena manages to bring him out of it and help him figure it out. Mikey can't help but laugh when Gerard's eyes go wide and he runs downstairs to work in the suggestion that Elena came up with. It's fucking great to see him excited like that—Mikey's missed it. All _he's_ done lately is make Gerard worry.

He catches Elena's eye—she's looking right at him, smiling fondly. He looks away quickly and swallows hard. Fuck. If only she knew how fucked up Mikey really is.

Mostly it's nice, though. Gerard's busy so Mikey doesn't see him often, which makes it easier to pretend like everything's great and fine and they're still the best of brothers, and that's it. Just that.

It's one morning when he's having breakfast with Ma and Gerard's still downstairs, sleeping, when Ma asks him gently, "Don't you miss your brother, Mikey?"

Mikey blinks, thrown. Can she read minds? Shit, she probably can, that would explain so much. He swallows and asks, "What do you mean?"

"Well, just, it's Christmas break and we've hardly seen him," Mom says. "Do you visit him often?"

"Uh," Mikey says. "I try to."

His mom smiles sadly. "You've always been so close," she says. "It must be hard. But at least now you're both in the city. You'll be fine."

Mikey looks down and fiddles with his coffee cup. "We _are_ fine, Ma."

She doesn't respond and when he looks up she's gone back to reading the paper. He finishes his coffee and pushes away the plate of waffles. He's not really hungry anymore.

~

The same evening Gerard says, "Mikey, we should watch _The Empire Strikes Back_ after dinner."

Mikey stops, glass in hand, and blinks. "Uh, yeah," he says. He takes a quick sip of his juice and puts it down. "Totally."

It used to be their Christmas thing, but Gerard had been busy on Christmas Day and Mikey hadn't brought it up either.

"Great," Gerard says, smiling wide. Mikey shoots a look at their mom, who is seemingly not paying attention to either of them, and tries not to frown. Did she talk to Gerard as well?

He follows Gerard to the basement after they've cleaned up, and sits down on the bed while Gerard sets up the tape. It's weird. It shouldn't be weird. He scratches at his elbow and shuffles to the right—his usual side.

Gerard finishes getting the old VCR ready, and turns around, smiling a little.

"Sorry we didn't do this on Christmas," he says, and climbs onto the bed, leans against the pillows.

Mikey shrugs. "It's fine." He pulls his legs up on the bed and crawls backward as well, settling in next to Gerard. Sometimes they used to make popcorn and sprawl on their bellies on the bed, eating and getting more popcorn on the bed and the floor than in their mouths, especially when they were younger. Mikey wonders if they should have made popcorn now, and then thinks about how their hands would have collided when reaching for the bowl and is glad they didn't.

"You okay?" Gerard asks.

Mikey blinks. "Yeah," he says. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Gerard shrugs. "You're kind of leaning away from me."

Mikey frowns. "I'm not. I'm just sitting." He might not be sitting as close to Gerard as usual, but he's not _leaning away_ , what the shit.

Gerard shrugs again. "Okay," he says, and starts the movie. "If you say so."

Mikey rolls his eyes and slumps down a little, moving just a bit closer to Gerard. Not enough that they're touching, but just to appease him. Gerard's fucking weird sometimes.

They watch the movie in relative silence. Sometimes they spend the time reciting lines or just commenting, but tonight is one of those times when Mikey just lets the movie wash over him. It's not really about the movie, after all, not always.

Gerard laughs beside him at Luke's whining, his snorty, giggly laugh, and Mikey finds himself grinning at him. It's nice. It's not—it isn't how it used to be, but it's still nice.

And Gerard is his brother, and Mikey knows there's nothing that'll ever change that. He'll make sure that nothing ever changes that.

The movie finishes and Mikey sits up—they'd both slipped down lower until they were lying on the pillows and could barely see the screen—and Gerard follows. Mikey yawns and stretches, and almost hits Gerard in the face, which makes Gerard laugh again.

"Watch it," Gerard says.

Mikey grins back. "Sorry."

Gerard's smiling wide, and he doesn't say anything, but he doesn't look away. It makes Mikey's stomach feel warm.

The moment stretches, and eventually Mikey looks away, breaking it. He suddenly feels weird again, on edge, and he can't tell why.

"Mikey," Gerard says. "Are you sure everything's okay?"

"Yeah," Mikey says immediately. "It's fine."

"Mikey," Gerard says again. Mikey looks over; Gerard looks worried and—something else. Mikey can't read it.

"Why wouldn't I be okay?" Mikey asks.

"I don't know," Gerard admits. "I just feel like things are still off, you know?"

Mikey shrugs, frowning. He doesn't know what Gerard wants him to say.

"It's probably my fault," Gerard says. "I've been so busy. I don't have time to check up on you."

"You don't have to check up on me."

Gerard nods slowly. "But I do."

"Gerard—"

"I'm your big brother, Mikes. I have to make sure you're okay."

"And I am," Mikey says. He pauses and takes a deep breath. "You can check up on me now—ask me how I've been."

"How have you been?" Gerard asks. He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, intent.

"Okay," Mikey says. "Finals were rough, but now I'm done. I was tired, but, well, I'm on break now. That's really it."

"And the—" Gerard points to his own wrists.

"Are you really asking about my sex life?" Mikey asks.

Gerard flushes, but he doesn't say anything. Mikey sighs and shows his wrists—no marks. He hasn't exactly had any time to hook up. Thank fuck New Year's Eve is soon. He'll probably hit some parties.

"And you're okay?" Gerard repeats. He can be so fucking annoying. 

Mikey sighs. "Yes, I'm fine. You don't have to worry." He pulls his sleeves down and goes to get off the bed.

"Wait, Mikey," Gerard says. "I just—doesn't it feel like things are different?" Mikey looks back at him. Gerard seems so worried. "I mean, between us," Gerard says.

Mikey looks down. "Elena said that things never stay the same."

"But this is _us_ ," Gerard says. He sounds choked up. Mikey suddenly feels like he's going to cry. "Mikey."

"We're okay, Gee," Mikey says, looking up at his brother. "Maybe things are different, but we're okay. We're fine."

"And you don't hate me?" Gerard asks. "For not being around more?"

"Of course I don't hate you," Mikey says. He does hate that Gerard feels that way—Gerard's not the one who's been avoiding Mikey. He was glad when Mikey came into the city for college. Mikey remembers thinking that everything would be better then, that all their weirdness had come from Gerard moving away and from whatever was bugging Gerard during his first year of college. But it wasn't Gerard's fault Mikey was fucked up about some things.

"I promise," Mikey says. "You're my brother, okay."

Gerard breathes out roughly and nods. "I just hate to think I haven't been there. Or that you can't talk to me."

Mikey's back hurts, like it's hard to breathe or something.

"I'm fine," he repeats. "I know where to find you. Don't worry about it, okay." He stretches again, and takes in a deep breath. "I'm gonna go to bed, okay?"

"Wait, you can stay here," Gerard says. "You don't have to go."

Mikey swallows. "No, that's fine," he says. "It's only a trip upstairs, I'm not going halfway across the city or anything."

He gets up, and pushes his glasses up on his nose. "See you tomorrow."

"Mikey," Gerard says. "You know I love you, right?" He's looking up at Mikey, face open, his eyes wide like he's trying not to cry. Mikey's stomach hurts.

"I know," he says. He can't say it back. He fucking can't.

"Yeah," Gerard says softly, and looks away. "Sleep well, okay."

"You too," Mikey says, and leaves. His head feels weird by the time he gets to his room, and it's hard to swallow because his throat hurts. He curls up on his bed and doesn't cry.

~

"I'm just saying, there's no reason to remake _The Crow_ ," Gabe says. "The whole thing is a fucking disgrace."

"Yeah," Travie says, eyebrows raised. His face looks hilarious. Mikey almost stumbles over a trash can because he's giggling so hard.

"Easy there, Way," Travie says and catches him by the shoulder.

"Don't hurt your pretty face," Gabe puts in.

Mikey scowls. "Fuck you." He wasn't even gonna fall. He just had to think of creative measures to avoid a trash can someone had left in the middle of the street.

"Aw, Mikey, don't be mean," Travie says, voice warm. "I know you're not a mean drunk."

"'M not drunk," Mikey says. Buzzed. Maybe a little high. Maybe a bit more than Gabe and Travie, but fuck those dudes, you never know with them anyway. (Travie's probably permanently high, and Gabe's fucking straight edge, still.)

The cold air is helping with that, anyway. That's what it's supposed to do, right?

"Sure," Gabe says. "You're not drunk, man, you're just here, enjoying life! Unlike some people."

"Stop moping about Pete, man," Travie says.

Gabe doesn't respond, so Mikey throws an arm around his shoulder and squeezes. "Pete's gonna be back soon, man." Pete's still at his parents' and will get back sometime next week or something. Mikey's not sure how Pete can just miss two weeks of classes, but what the fuck does he know.

Gabe shakes his head. "Fucking Chicago, stealing my boy." It sounds weirdly honest, and Mikey has to stop himself for saying something weird and sappy in return. Like, "Chicago could never." Okay, that's more weird than sappy. He giggles, burying his face against Gabe's shoulder.

A large group of people goes past them, and they almost stumble, but Gabe wraps an arm around his waist and manages to hold them both up. Mikey laughs harder, until he's wheezing. He feels really fucking good tonight, better than he has in _weeks_. Maybe fucking months.

He tunes back in when he hears Gabe ask, "So where are we going? I'm fucking starving."

"I know a good place," Travie says. "It's not far."

"Thank fuck," Gabe says. "I'm so hungry."

"I'm cold," Mikey says. Fucking January weather.

"Dude," Travie says. "Why aren't you wearing a jacket?"

Mikey looks down at his shirt. "I forgot."

"What the fuck, Mikey Way?" Travie says. "It's fucking freezing."

"Gabe's keeping me warm."

"Sure," Gabe says absentmindedly and hugs Mikey tighter.

"You had your jacket earlier," Travie says. "I distinctly remember saying, 'That's a sweet jacket.'"

"I know," Mikey says. "I forgot it." He's really getting cold now. "How far are we going?"

"Not far," Travie says. "Where did you leave it?"

"At Gabe's," Mikey says. He really hopes he didn't leave it in the club. He loves that jacket. "I didn't have it at the club, did I?"

"You didn't," Gabe says, and taps Mikey's wrist. "Because I noticed these, and thought, who are you hooking up with if you're not hooking up with my bro here?"

Mikey looks at his sweat bands and frowns. "No one." He's mostly wearing them from habit, now. Well, he always used to wear them, now they're just bigger, to hide the marks better.

"Really?" Gabe asks. "Travie, you gotta take care of your dude."

"Shut up," Travie says. "He knows he can come to me whenever he wants, I ain't gonna pressure him."

Gabe pauses. "That's really sweet."

Mikey snorts, and then blinks when Travie suddenly disappears. "Travie turned invisible."

"He did," Gabe agrees with him easily. "He also went into this cafe."

"Oh," Mikey says, and follows Gabe through the door.

His glasses fog up immediately and he takes them off and frowns at them. Stupid glasses. The warmth of the cafe is making him shiver. He waves his glasses around, waiting for them to warm up and defog. He feels the slightest bit dizzy, but he's fine.

"Hey, Mikey Way, isn't that your brother?"

Mikey hurries to put his glasses back on and follows Gabe's line of vision. He finds Travie first—he's kind of hard to miss, when he's not invisible. Travie's saying hi to some people and then he sits down at their booth, right opposite—

"Gerard." Mikey grins and rushes up to the booth and wraps his arms around Gerard's shoulders.

He almost overbalances and falls over Gerard, but he gets his knee up on the seat and sits down, wrapping his arms more securely around Gerard.

"Whoa," Gerard says, grabbing Mikey's arm. "Hey, Mikey, what—where the fuck is your jacket?"

Mikey shrugs and rests his chin on Gerard's shoulder. "I forgot."

"We think he left it at Gabe's," Travie tells Gerard.

"Yeah," Mikey puts in. He wonders where Gabe got to. He almost pulls away to look, but no, he doesn't really want to do that.

"You're freezing," Gerard says. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Mikey mumbles. "It's warm."

There's a guy sitting close next to Gerard; he looks familiar but Mikey can't place him. Mikey scowls at him. The guy looks taken aback.

"Hey," Gerard tells the guy. "Can you move, just a bit?"

The guy looks away from Mikey and scoots over. They shuffle around and Mikey finds himself properly sitting down, Gerard's arm firm around his waist. Mikey sighs quietly and rests his head against Gerard's shoulder. Much better.

"Where are you guys coming from?" Gerard asks. Mikey lets Travie answer; he's not even sure where they're coming from. He can't remember how far the club was.

Instead he casts his eye around the cafe and finds Gabe standing at the counter, clearly flirting with the guy behind it. Mikey frowns, thinking of Pete. Then he thinks of the guy sitting next to Gerard and feels kind of hollow inside.

He looks back at their booth and is about to ask if they were on a date when he notices there are three more people there, sitting between the guy and Travie. Two girls—Mikey recognizes Lindsey and Kitty and _oh_ , now he finally recognizes the guy. It's Jimmy and the other dude is Steve. So probably not a date, then. He feels stupidly relieved.

"Hey," Gabe says. "Make some room."

He sits down next to Travie and everyone shuffles around again. Gerard's arm is still around Mikey's back; it's really fucking nice. It makes the room stop spinning.

Mikey frowns, wondering if he noticed when the room _started_ spinning. Probably not. It's stopped now, so that's good.

"Sorry about just barging in on you," Travie says.

"Don't worry about it," Lindsey says. "Best place in the neighborhood, right?"

"Fuck yeah," Gabe moans, biting into his sandwich and Mikey laughs.

"Yeah," Gerard says. "It's no problem."

"Wait," Mikey says, too loud. Everyone looks at him. He keeps his eye on Gabe. "Why did you flirt with that dude?"

Gabe beams at him. "Free coffee." 

Mikey frowns, but Gabe shakes his head. "Don't worry, man."

"But Pete."

"It was just for free coffee," Gabe says, looking confused now. "You know I—besides, Pete knows I sometimes flirt with people, that doesn't mean anything."

Mikey shrugs. "As long as he's okay with it." He's protective of Pete. Everyone who knows Pete probably is.

"He's fine," Gabe says. "Sheesh, when did you become so monogamous? You flirt with everyone."

Mikey frowns. This conversation is starting to hurt his head.

"Don't worry, Gabey," Travie says. "No one is more monogamous than you."

Gabe scoffs, but Mikey can see he's quietly pleased. And Travie's right. Gabe might flirt with people but he's super fucking monogamous when it comes down to it in the end. Mikey's not sure why he got so upset about it.

He looks away from Gabe, and Travie, who's giving him the "chill, little grasshopper" look. The smells of the cafe are making him hungry. They're also making his stomach twist weirdly.

He notices the coffee cup in front if Gerard and reaches for it. "Can I have this?"

Gerard turns his head to look at it, and Mikey realizes he's been having a conversation with the rest of the guys. "Sure," Gerard says. "You know you don't have to ask. There's not much left, though."

Mikey picks it up—there's like a quarter left. Gerard often leaves the end, which is super sweet because he mixes his coffee with too much fucking sugar. Mikey makes a face, but still drinks it. It's even slightly warm.

"Whoa," he hears someone say. He thinks it's Jimmy. "You don't share your coffee with anyone, but he doesn't even have to ask?"

"Brothers get special privileges," Gerard says.

Mikey smiles briefly into the coffee cup before tilting his head back and finishing it. It settles in his stomach, warm, and suddenly he's really sleepy. He puts the cup back on the table, rests his head against Gerard's shoulder again and closes his eyes.

He wakes to Gerard nudging him, gently. "Hey, Mikey Way," Travie says, and Mikey blinks his eyes open. "These guys are gonna take off so we're going."

Mikey blinks again, frowning. His stomach feels a bit off and he's tired. His head's all fuzzy. Gerard's is squeezing him tight, obviously trying to hold him up.

"Mikey?" Travie asks.

"Where are we going?" Mikey asks, slowly pulling away from Gerard and stretching.

"Back to the dorm," Gabe says. He's finished his sandwich, there's only some cucumbers left. Mikey's stomach growls.

"I'm tired," he says. The dorm seems like so far away.

"Well, we're off," Lindsey says. Mikey blinks up at her. They're all standing, already wearing their jackets. Mikey doesn't have a jacket.

"Bye," Gerard says. "See you later."

"Bye," Mikey echoes. She smiles down at them and leaves, the others in tow. That's exactly what it looks like. Mikey almost gets up and follows before he realizes Gerard isn't moving.

"You coming, Mikey Way?" Gabe asks, standing up.

"You can come back to mine," Gerard says before Mikey gets a chance to answer. "I mean, you're all welcome. Uh."

"Matt not home?" Mikey asks, and Gerard shakes his head.

"Nah, we're gonna take off," Travie says. "Thanks Geeway. You, Mikey?"

"Yeah, I'll go with Gee," Mikey says. "It's good."

"Okay," Travie says. "See you later."

Mikey pushes himself out of the booth and Travie steps in for a brief hug. Gabe squeezes him tighter, and Mikey says, "Text me if you see my jacket, okay?"

"Sure," Gabe promises, and then they're off.

Mikey stands, leaning against the booth, watching them disappear into the cold New York night.

"Come on," Gerard says. "Let's go. I would totally lend you my jacket but my throat's been weird, so I think huddling's our best bet. You can have my hat, though."

"Sure," Mikey agrees absentmindedly, taking the furry hat Gerard hands him and following him out the door. He can feel himself start to sober up as soon as the cold air hits him, but before he gets the chance to feel awkward or anything, Gerard has wrapped his arm tight around Mikey and they're heading to Gerard's place at top speed.

They get there pretty fast—and Mikey relatively unfrozen. Gerard gives him a small cup of tea, lots of water, and before Mikey realizes it he's lying in Gerard's bed, under the covers, his eyes slipping shut. He drifts off listening to Gerard move about the room, muttering to himself about colours.

~

Gerard's already awake when Mikey gets up—he can smell the coffee coming from the kitchen. It took him a second to place where he was when he woke, but then he remembered, well, most of what happened yesterday. He tries to sit up slowly and discovers he's not as nauseous as expected. He reaches for his glasses and slips them on. He vaguely remembers Gerard making him drink a lot of water. He also remembers clinging to Gerard's neck and not letting go. Fuck. Fucking hell.

His head's still sore, though, and his stomach weird, so he gets out of bad carefully and trudges to the kitchen for some coffee. Matt doesn't seem to be around, which Mikey's grateful for. He kind of hates that dude.

"Hey," Gerard says when he sees him. "How are you feeling?"

"Good," Mikey says and makes a beeline for the coffee. "Well, okay. Not that bad. Thanks."

Gerard shrugs. "I didn't do anything."

Mikey rubs at his eyes, smudging up his glasses, and takes them off to clean them on his shirt. He realizes belatedly that he's not wearing any jeans. Gerard must have taken them off. He swallows hard and tries not to think about that. He puts his glasses back on and drinks his coffee.

Gerard's not saying anything, unusually quiet even for this early in the morning. Actually, Mikey's not sure how early it is. He was feeling good when he woke up, considering, but now he's slowly growing more tense, just by being around Gerard. He fucking hates it.

"What's wrong, Mikey?" Gerard asks. Mikey blinks.

"Nothing?" he says. "I have a bit of a hangover? I'm fine."

Gerard shakes his head. "What's wrong with us?"

Mikey lowers his cup. He suddenly feels sick. He swallows and the nausea passes a little.

"It's just." Gerard leans forward and buries his head in his hands. He tugs at his hair, clearly agitated, and looks up. "I know things are weird and I'm _sorry_. I just. I don't know what happened with us, Mikey. Can we please talk about it?"

"I don't know," Mikey lies.

"I know I fucked it up a bit," Gerard says. "Back during my first year. Things got weird." Mikey nods. He remembers Gerard pulling away. Mikey had resigned himself to thinking that's just what happened, but it seemed to have gotten fixed right before Gerard moved away to the city completely. "But I got _over_ that. I got past it and things got better again. For a while. Didn't they?"

"Got past what?" Mikey asks.

"It doesn't matter," Gerard says. "Not important. I got _past_ it. So why is it still fucked up?"

Mikey huddles down. "It's not your fault," he admits, swallowing hard. "I've been avoiding you."

Gerard frowns. "But why? What did I do? I tried to fix it, why didn't it work?"

Mikey shakes his head. He doesn't know what Gerard's talking about. "I don't know."

"But why are you avoiding me? Mikey, please."

"I don't wanna talk about it," Mikey says quietly. "I can't."

"Why not?" Gerard asks. "Mikey, it's okay."

Mikey knows suddenly, with absolute clarity, that Gerard's gonna pry it out of him. That's just what he does, what he always does. Mikey can't let that happen. He stands up fast. "I have to go."

"What?" Gerard asks. "No, wait."

Mikey shakes his head again. "I have a thing, I have to—"

"What _thing_?" Gerard asks. "You're barely back in school yet."

Mikey takes a deep breath. It doesn't help. "I just have to—"

"Just tell me what's _wrong_ ," Gerard says. "Tell me why you hid the kink thing from me. Did you feel like you couldn't trust me?"

"I don't know," Mikey says.

Gerard stands up then, too, and takes a step closer. "Mikey, you can tell me. You can tell me anything, you _know_ that."

"No," Mikey says. "Not this."

"Why?" Gerard asks.

"Don't do this," Mikey says. "You always do this."

"Do what?" Gerard asks. "I just want to—I need to know, Mikey. Tell me what I can do to make this work again."

"Nothing," Mikey says. "I'm working on it, okay."

"Working on what? Fuck, Mikey, just tell me why you won't even fucking _look_ at me. _Please_."

"Because I want to," Mikey says. He drags in a breath, and fuck, he's angry now. If Gerard really wants to hear this, then fucking let him. "Because I fucking want _you_ , okay? I fucking think about you when I jerk off, and I can't fucking deal with that. So don't fucking come and cry about me avoiding you, okay, because you have no idea." Mikey's voice breaks, and he fucking hates it, hates that he didn't just leave, hates that he's so fucked up, because that's not Gerard's fault.

He hates that he can't look away from Gerard's face. Gerard just stares back at him, his face a mixture of expressions. And then he goes and says, "I wanted you, too."

Mikey breathes in sharply. What? "What?"

"I wanted—fuck, Mikey." Gerard steps closer, and Mikey shakes his head and backs away. He can't fucking do this. What the fuck is Gerard talking about?

"No," he says. He can't stay here. He feels sick, he feels like he's gonna throw up. He has to leave.

"Mikey."

Mikey turns and heads to Gerard's bedroom, grabs his jeans and gets them on as fast as he can. He's pulling on his jacket when Gerard comes through the door. "Mikey, please, can we talk about this?"

"No," Mikey says. "I'm gonna go. I have a thing, I need to go." He grabs his phone and pushes past Gerard, heading towards the front door.

"Mikey," Gerard rushes after him. "Mikey, wait, please. Let me explain."

Mikey turns around and hugs himself. He could—no. No, he can't stay. "I have to go," he says again, voice as firm as he can make it.

"Mikey, wait." Gerard's reaching out to him, face torn.

Mikey shakes his head, and turns. Gerard calls out to him again. Mikey closes the door behind him.

~

"Mikey." It's Frank. Mikey blinks, then closes his eyes again. "Mikey, dude. You alive there?"

Mikey pushes the blanket down to his shoulders.

"Hey," Frank says. "You okay?"

Mikey shrugs one shoulder, pulls his knees closer to his chest. He's been lying in bed for a while now; he's not sure how long it's been.

"Sick?" Frank asks. "Tired? Tell me you're not dying, man."

"I'm not dying, Frank." Mikey sighs and rubs his cheek against the pillow, just for something to do.

"Okay," Frank says. Mikey hears him rummage around the room. Then Frank appears in his line of vision, and crouches down in front of him. "Promise?"

Mikey thinks about smiling, then disregards it. He nods, though, and hopes he looks just trustworthy enough.

"So what is it?"

Mikey can't decide whether Frank's concern is touching or annoying. Annoying often, touching usually, but right now, Mikey doesn't know.

"Hey, Mikey," Frank says, and Mikey looks back at him. Frank's frowning, his eyebrows drawn together.

Mikey sighs. "I'm. It's nothing. Just—Gerard."

Frank makes a sympathetic face. "You guys had a fight?"

"Sort of. Yeah." Mikey presses his knees against his chest, looks away.

"Sorry," Frank says. "But you guys will fix it, right?"

Mikey shrugs, and closes his eyes. He wants to say yes. Of course they will. They will. But the words won't come out.

"Okay, well, I have to head out," Frank says. "Group project."

"Sucks."

"Yeah," Frank says. He doesn't move, though. Mikey opens his eyes again. "Unless you want me to stay?" Frank asks.

Mikey swallows hard and shakes his head.

"Okay," Frank says. Mikey can tell that Frank wants to lean in and hug him, but he doesn't. Instead he pats the bed near Mikey's head, then gets up.

Mikey closes his eyes. 

"Do you want some water?" Frank asks. 

Mikey shakes his head again. He's not thirsty. 

"Okay," Frank says. Mikey hears him move around the room, quiet thumps and scrapes. "I'll be back around eight." 

Mikey doesn't react; he doesn't even know what time it is now. He opens his eyes, but it doesn't give him any clue. Late. Winter.

Frank closes the door behind him, leaving Mikey alone in the slowly dimming room. Mikey breathes out slowly and thinks about turning over to lie on his back. He settles for stretching out his legs. His stomach aches, though, so he curls up again, this time pressing his hands to his chest. His wrists are the slightest bit sore, and he considers getting up, going, going to Travie or Gabe, and asking them to hold him down, to hurt, to make him feel it.

He doesn't. He closes his eyes again, and thinks about Gerard. About what Gerard said. He feels cold, suddenly sick, and the nausea is rising fast. He presses his hand to his stomach and breathes through it.

He never thought about telling Gerard. Never thought about admitting it, ever, so he can't compare his own reaction to anything he imagined he'd feel. Even if he had, he probably couldn't have predicted Gerard's response.

Mikey screws his eyes shut, exhales harshly. He can still see Gerard's face, pale, shocked, and disgusted, when he said, "I wanted you, too."

Mikey turns and buries his face in his pillow, keeps his breathing shallow and steady. He tries to fall asleep, but instead he stays up, playing the scene over and over in his mind. It feels like every time it hurts worse.

~

"Come on, dude," Frank says.

Mikey doesn't look up. "I'm not coming."

"Yes, you are," Frank says. "I'm tired of you moping here. You'll die of it and then what will I do?"

"Have the room to yourself," Mikey says. "Like you've always wanted."

"What?" Frank says. "Jesus Christ, Mikey, come _on_." Without warning he throws himself on Mikey's bed and tries to wrestle the laptop from him.

Mikey pulls it close to his chest. "Stop, you'll break it." Frank huffs and attacks Mikey instead, trying to tickle his sides. "Frank, fucking _stop_."

"I don't want my own room," Frank says. "And I don't want another roommate, and I don't want to see you fucking sad, Mikey Way. So let's go."

"I don't fucking want to." He hasn't gone out to a party since—well, since. It hasn't been that long, really. It's probably just weird for Frank to see him in the dorm so often.

He's been ignoring Gerard's texts, which hasn't been fun, but then again, Gerard hasn't texted that much. Which is—well, it sucks. Everything fucking sucks, and Frank isn't _listening_ to him.

Frank pushes himself up and kneels next to Mikey, his face serious now. "Look, I get it, something's going on with you and your brother. But you can't just hide out here."

"Whatever," Mikey says.

Frank pauses, sighing, and then asks slowly, "Is this the same thing you were fighting about before?"

Mikey pauses. "No. Not that."

"You guys fixed that, right?"

Mikey nods. He hadn't realized Frank had even noticed that, back then.

"So you'll fix this, too."

"I don't know," Mikey says.

"Of course you will," Frank says. "Come on, dude, getting out will do you good, okay? We can leave if you want."

Mikey narrows his eyes. "Really?"

"Sure," Frank says, and grins. "Come on."

Mikey rolls his eyes, but Frank's already dragging him up. 

"Shower," Frank says. "You fucking reek."

"Shut up," Frank says. "And make it fast, or you won't have time to style your hair."

"I fucking hate you."

"You love me," Frank says. Mikey sighs and heads towards the showers.

The party, of course, is full of people who he knows or has seen around. Frank was right, people probably thought he was dying somewhere because everyone seems both happy and surprised to see him. It hasn't even been that fucking long. A week, or so. People need to relax.

Frank abandons him for Jamia and her friends, but he catches Mikey's elbow before he goes and says, "Seriously, if you want to leave then come find me, okay?"

Mikey blinks and gives him a small smile. "Thanks, dude."

"Yeah, whatever," Frank says. "Stay out of trouble."

Mikey's busy staying out of trouble near the stereo when he spots a familiar figure he hasn't seen in a while. "Ray!"

Ray's making his way towards the kitchen, but he switches directions and heads over, smiling. "Mikey, hey." 

"Hey," Mikey says, and reaches up for a brief hug. He's missed Ray. He hasn't had time to go to any of his shows recently, and they don't usually run in the same circles.

"How've you been?" Ray asks.

Mikey shrugs. "Good. Busy with school, you know. You? I'm sorry I haven't been around."

Ray smiles. "Don't worry about it, man. I'm just glad to see you. Oh, hey, did Gerard find you?"

Mikey blinks. "What?"

"He was looking for you," Ray says. 

Mikey swallows, and crosses his arms. "He was?"

"Yeah," Ray says, frowning slightly. "Is your phone dead? Dude, you can use mine."

"No," Mikey says. "No, it's fine."

"You sure?" Ray says. "He said he'd been trying to reach you. He must be in the library."

"What?" Mikey asks. "What library?"

"There's a library somewhere...there," Ray inclines with his head.

"He's here?"

Ray pauses, taking in Mikey's tone and posture. "Yeah?" he says. "Mikey, is everything okay?"

Mikey closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I just—listen, I'm gonna go find Frank, okay? I'll see you later?"

"Sure," Ray says easily. "I'll be here."

Mikey nods and takes off. He feels a bit shitty about lying to Ray, but fuck, he needs to—he needs to get out of here. He's not even gonna bother with finding Frank, fuck that. Fuck, Frank probably _knew_ Gerard was gonna be there. Who the fuck knows with that dude.

He grinds his teeth together, balling his hands into fists, and makes his way through the crowd towards the front door. There are all these _people_. He was having a good time, and he thought he'd even try to meet some new people, but now he's just annoyed with them for being in his way. He has to sidestep two couples making out, and something that looks like a threesome—why the hell are they all making out near the _doors_ , unless they were, like, on their way outside but got distracted or something.

Finally he makes it outside into the hallway, and closes the door behind him. The sound from the party falls away, and Mikey leans against the door, closes his eyes and breathes. Fuck. Fucking hell, what the fuck is he _doing_?

"Hey, man, you gonna move?" someone asks, and Mikey starts and jumps out of the way.

"Sorry," he says. The guy gives him a weird look and pulls the door open, disappearing into the crowd. Mikey shakes his head, and pushes away from the wall. He's almost made it to the elevator, is reaching out to press the button, when there's the slam of a door and the sound of footsteps.

"Mikey!"

Mikey freezes, finger hovering over the button. Gerard's footsteps pick up, and Mikey pulls his hand away, and wraps his arms around himself instead. (He once read that by doing that you automatically give yourself away as scared and defensive. Well, whatever.)

"Mikey, hey," Gerard says. "Uh. Hey."

Mikey breathes in deep and turns towards Gerard, looking up. Gerard's wearing a dark band t-shirt and the usual jacket he puts on when he goes out. His hair's a mess—it's getting too long, and he needs to dye it. Mikey's not sure why he's focusing on that detail, but he can't look away from the roots of Gerard's hair.

"Hey," Gerard says again.

Mikey blinks and finally looks away, catches Gerard's gaze by accident. He swallows hard and stares at Gerard's shoulder instead. "What's up?"

"You didn't reply to any of my texts," Gerard says.

"You didn't send that many."

Gerard frowns, confused. "I was looking for you."

"Ray told me," Mikey says.

"Okay," Gerard says slowly. "I was thinking we could talk."

Mikey shrugs, looking away, and Gerard steps closer. After a beat Mikey realizes maybe he should have stepped back, even if he doesn't particularly want to. Maybe Gerard would get the point, then. There's nothing to talk about.

"Talk about what?" he asks.

"Mikey," Gerard says. He sounds fucking _sad_. Mikey hates it.

"Where?" Mikey asks.

"Anywhere," Gerard says. "Uh, well, maybe not here. Let's go to my place?"

Mikey answers with a shrug. He'd prefer talking somewhere that's more neutral than that, but—this isn't really a conversation to have in a cafe.

After a moment Gerard reaches out and presses the call button. He's still standing really close.

"Mikey," Gerard says again, but the elevator dings and the doors open. Gerard gives Mikey one last glance and steps in. Mikey follows him.

~

"Do you want anything?" Gerard asks. He looks at the coffee maker—Mikey thinks it needs cleaning again. Gerard really needs to buy one for himself and hide it in his room so Matt can't use it.

"No," Mikey says. "It's fine."

Gerard throws him a concerned look, like he can't believe Mikey's turning down coffee.

Mikey sighs. "Let's just get to it, okay?" 

"Okay," Gerard says and sits down opposite him. "Okay, so. Why did you not answer my texts?" he asks. "Why were you avoiding me?"

Mikey raises his eyebrows. "Seriously?"

"Yeah?" Gerard asks. "I mean, I don't know."

"I told you that I wanted you to fuck me," Mikey says. He can barely get the words out _now_ , fuck. "I told you I was in love with you, and you—"

"You didn't say that," Gerard interrupts him, frowning.

Mikey shakes his head. That's not the point now. "I'm sorry if I didn't want to see that look on your face again, okay?"

"What look?" Gerard asks, baffled now.

"Disgust."

"That wasn't disgust," Gerard says. "That wasn't—" He sighs. "Okay," he says. "Okay, we really have to talk about this. But first I want to ask you something else. Okay?"

Mikey shrugs. "Sure." He's already here. And Gerard's right, Mikey knows this. They have to talk about this. Something has to change.

"This kink thing—you like it, right?"

"Yeah," Mikey says slowly.

Gerard twists his hands together. "You don't think you—deserve pain?"

Mikey blinks. "I _like_ the pain. I mean, don't I deserve to get what I like?"

Gerard doesn't answer at first. He still looks worried, chewing at his lip, and Mikey wants to kiss him. No, he doesn't deserve to get whatever he likes, and he won't, and he's so fucked up, god, what's _wrong_ with him? He wraps his arms around his middle and looks away.

"Okay," Gerard says. "So, like—so you're sure? That you're not, like."

"Not what?" Mikey asks, glancing at him.

Gerard breathes out hard. "Okay, so remember when we first fought about this?"

Mikey nods. It's hard to forget, sometimes it feels like it's still weighing between them. It obviously is.

"Okay, and at first I was just scared, right, that you were letting someone hurt you, that you were getting _hurt_ , but then you said you wanted that, right?"

"Yeah," Mikey says. 

Gerard looks down; he tugs on his hair and doesn't say anything else. 

"Gerard?" Mikey prompts him.

"Okay," Gerard says. "Okay, I got that. I mean, I tried to get that, and it's fine, you like it, we all like different things, but then—" He looks up, hands still in his hair, face worried and lost. "Then I started thinking, and, like, what if your whole kink thing is just a thing to, like—like you hurt yourself, because you think you deserve it. Because of me."

Mikey blinks. "You're an idiot."

"I—"

"I've always liked it," Mikey says. He swallows hard. "Uh, remember when I kept burning myself with matches and you thought I was just really clumsy?"

"Then why did you hide it from me?" Gerard demands, scowling now.

"Because every time I thought about telling you, I thought about _you_ holding me down and hurting me."

Gerard stares at him, mouth slightly open.

"And I wanted it." Mikey looks down again and hugs himself tighter. "I want it. I'm sorry."

"Don't," Gerard says. "Don't be. It's okay."

Mikey shakes his head. "No, I'm—it's fucked up."

"Yeah," Gerard says slowly, and Mikey squeezes his eyes closed. "But, like, a lot of people would also say that your pain thing is fucked up. And it isn't. You know it isn't."

Mikey opens his eyes. Gerard looks so fucking _earnest_ , what the fuck is he even saying? "It's not the same," Mikey says. "You can't say it's the same."

"Okay," Gerard says. "Okay, you're right. It just—sorry, can we go back to the pain thing for a second?"

"Sure," Mikey says. He doesn't know where any of this is going, but Gerard's still here and he's not leaving, and he doesn't look disgusted, said he _didn't_ look disgusted, so it could probably be going worse.

"You said it wasn't about me," Gerard says. "Back when we first fought."

"It isn't," Mikey says. "I like it. I like doing it with people. And I—I fucking like you, okay, so maybe I want you to do that to me, too."

"Oh," Gerard says. "Oh, fuck, Mikey."

Mikey shakes his head again. "I know it's fucked up," he repeats.

"Yeah," Gerard says. "That's—I mean, that's how I feel about wanting you."

Mikey takes in a deep breath. His stomach's starting to hurt. "When did you—" Mikey pauses and swallows, rests his his palm against his stomach. "When?"

Gerard shrugs and leans back, hand going to his hair. He's not looking at Mikey. "My first year of college," he says. "When I was still commuting, remember?"

Mikey nods. Gerard had gotten so weird back then. Mikey had hoped that nothing would change because Gerard would still be living at home, and then it had.

"Fuck," Gerard says. "Fuck, Mikey, you were _sixteen_. I felt like the worst person in the world."

"You didn't do anything," Mikey says.

Gerard shakes his head. "That doesn't—I got over it. Okay?"

Mikey looks away. Of course Gerard did. He was stronger than Mikey. Not as fucked up, not really, not in the end.

"I got over it and I tired to make sure things went back to now they were," Gerard says. "But then I moved away and then you moved here, and everything got even worse, and I still—I still wanted you."

Mikey's eyes go wide. "Really?"

"Yeah," Gerard says, and laughs mirthlessly. "Fuck, I really did. I mean, I still felt like a creep, but you had grown up. You'll—you'll always be my little brother, Mikey. But you were doing your own thing and keeping me out of it and—I was proud. And really fucking jealous."

Mikey shakes his head. "Gee." He's not sure how to continue but Gerard stops him anyway.

"I didn't mean to be," he says. "And I'm glad you have your own life. I never wanted you to know, okay? I just missed you. I wanted things to go back to the way they were."

Mikey breathes in, and leans forward, resting his arms on the table. He can't stand the pressure of having them over his stomach anymore. "And then I went and fucked it all up."

"What?" Gerard frowns. "No, Mikey—"

"I got all weird on you," Mikey says. "And then I told you that I—that. Fuck. I fucked it up."

"Mikey," Gerard says. "I was messed up about this way before you did anything."

"Sorry," Mikey says. His throat feels tight. "I just didn't know what to do, I tried to—I tried to stop."

"Hey," Gerard says. "Mikey, no." He makes a move to get up, but then seems to change his mind and reaches his hand out instead, carefully touching Mikey's wrist. "It's okay. This isn't your fault."

Mikey scowls. "It's fucked up," he says, insistent. He knows it is. The worst part is that sometimes he forgets. Sometimes he allows himself to forget.

"It is," Gerard says. "But you didn't hurt anyone, okay? You didn't hurt me. Lots of people are fucked up."

Mikey shakes his head. "Not like this. You know that."

Gerard takes a deep breath and nudges Mikey's hand. Mikey sighs and flips it over and Gerard tangles their fingers together.

"I know, Gerard says. "But you're not alone, okay? We're pretty fucked up together."

That startles a laugh out of Mikey, and he presses a hand to his mouth. He didn't think about that. It doesn't change that much, but—he never wanted Gerard to know how messed up his brother was. He didn't want Gerard to feel—pain, disgust. Guilt. When it wasn't at all Gerard's fault.

The rest of the world—well, they were never gonna know anyway, but even if they did, Mikey didn't care about that as much as he cared about what Gerard would feel.

And Gerard said he felt the same, about Mikey.

Mikey shakes his head. "Fucked up," he repeats. He doesn't know how else to describe this. "This—Gee."

Gerard's looking at him, face serious. He's considering something, Mikey knows that face.

"You know," Gerard says slowly. "It—" He stops and starts over. "Remember what you told me? What Elena said? About things changing?" Mikey nods. "Maybe this can be it," Gerard says. He's still holding Mikey's hand—it's getting sweaty.

"What?" Mikey asks. Gerard just keeps looking at Mikey, doesn't say anything. "Gee?" Mikey prompts.

Gerard pulls his hand away and starts tapping on the table. He raises the other hand to his mouth to chew on his cuticles. Mikey gets the urge to reach out and grab it.

"What if," Gerard says. "What if you pretend that you could have this?"

Mikey frowns. "What?"

"This," Gerard says, waving his hand around, then twisting both his hands together. He looks up at Mikey. "Me. What if you could have me?"

"You mean..." Mikey starts.

"I mean—fuck, whatever you want, Mikey. However you want. Pretend that you could, that nothing—nothing else mattered, okay."

"Is this like a parallel universe where you're not my brother?" Mikey asks. Gerard frowns, but this is an important distinction.

"No," Gerard says. "Nothing like that. Just if you didn't have to worry about anything else, society, I don't know, whatever. Would you want it?"

"Yes," Mikey says immediately. He doesn't even have to think about it. Maybe that's fucked up, too. "Yes, I'd want you. If you wanted me back."

Something n Gerard's eyes softens. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, me too."

Mikey breathes in deep. He feels kind of dizzy, even though he's sitting. "What does that mean?" he asks. "What—Gee, I don't know."

Gerard gets up quickly and walks around the table, leaning down and pulling Mikey into an awkward hug. "It means we'll figure it out," he says. "We can figure this out." It's a promise.

Mikey leans his head against Gerard's chest. "Okay," he says.

"You're my brother," Gerard says. "And I love you."

Mikey squeezes his eyes closed and whispers, "Love you, too."

Gerard presses a kiss to his hair and rubs his back. Neither of them move for a long time.

~

"Mikey, hey," Frank says, wrapping his arms around Mikey in a hug from behind. "You coming to the party tonight?"

Mikey elbows Frank in the gut—gently—and Frank pulls away, laughing. "Can't," Mikey says, not looking away from his notebook.

"Oh, come on, don't tell me you're studying," Frank says. "Because I don't buy it."

"I'm going to Gerard's tonight."

"Really?" Frank asks. "Dude, you've been there like almost every night this week."

Mikey turns around and scowls. Frank's still giggling at him. He just wants to get a rise out of Mikey, the fucker. Mikey rolls his eyes. He hasn't been there that often. "We're watching a movie," he says. "His roommate's out so we can use the big TV."

"It better be a great fucking movie," Frank says. "The band at this thing is gonna be killer."

Mikey shrugs. "Some other time."

"Fine," Frank sighs. "But you're missing out."

Mikey shrugs again. He doesn't think he is.

"Hey, I'm just messing," Frank says. "Have fun with your brother, man. I'm glad you two made up."

Mikey smiles. "Yeah, you too," he says. "I mean, have fun."

Frank laughs and pushes his shoulder. "I'm gonna go find J. See you later, dude."

Mikey watches him leave, then turns back to his homework. He super doesn't give a shit about it, though. He pushes it aside and picks up his phone, and reads the text from Gerard.

_getting in around seven, see you then! love you_

He checks the time—it's almost six, he'll get going soon. He smiles down at his phone and puts it away.

Frank's mostly right, though. Mikey has been going to Gerard's a lot more often. It's been two weeks since what Gerard likes to call "the talk" and they haven't _done_ anything, but they're figuring it out. Just hanging out and talking, touching, maybe cuddling up in bed while watching _Ghostbusters_ , closer than they should, but exactly as close as they want to. It's—it's not easy for Mikey to feel like he can have this, but Gerard said the important part is that they have to _talk_ about it. And Gerard has talked a _lot_. It makes it easier, little by little, for Mikey to ask for things, too. (It still sometimes get confused in his head, but Gerard just reminds him that they're brothers. They know each other completely, especially now, and that helps.)

But tonight will be different. Gerard's roommate is away for the weekend, and Gerard said he wanted to try something tonight. Mikey's not sure if he means just kissing or if he plans to jump right in. Gerard _has_ kissed him—his cheek, his hair, his hand, the corner of his lips. Gentle touches that make Mikey feel like he's—loved, he guesses. That's probably the best way to describe it.

And Mikey hasn't held back, either—slipping his hands under Gerard's shirt while they were watching The Twilight Zone reruns, digging his fingers into the soft flesh on Gerard's waist and pressing his lips to Gerard's throat. It made him feel like a teenager, going so slow, but they both knew they were on treacherous grounds. And it was nice—warm, comforting. As easy as something like this could be. But tonight he's waiting for something more. He wonders if Gerard feels the same.

Mikey leaves the dorm early, but there's an unexpected train delay so he's a bit late. Gerard leads him into the kitchen as soon as Mikey gets there and sits him down, hands on Mikey's shoulders.

"Coffee?" Mikey asks.

"Yeah, in a second," Gerard says. "I just got in." He looks kinda tired. Mikey twitches in his chair and waits for Gerard to get coffee ready. There are cookies on the table, but Gerard doesn't touch them, so Mikey's wary of them. He thinks they've been there for a while. He tries to make small talk, but Gerard's not paying attention.

It takes two cups, but then Gerard's gaze changes and he sits up straighter. "Okay," he says. "I thought we could skip the movie tonight."

Mikey raises his eyebrow, amused. "I kind of figured."

Gerard waves his hand. "Yeah, yeah. Okay, first—this isn't gonna be anything intense, okay. Let's just set the limits."

Mikey tilts his head, wondering. "Have you been talking to someone about this?"

"I can use Google," Gerard says. Mikey rolls his eyes, but it's still touching. "I thought—we don't have to do something really extreme at first."

Mikey blinks. "What's extreme?" He's been tied up and _flogged_. And really, that doesn't seem like very extreme now. Besides, he liked it.

But he's up for whatever Gerard's offering. He wants whatever Gerard's offering, and yeah, it probably isn't best to jump right into bondage. Actually, Mikey just wants Gerard to kiss him and maybe pull his hair. Simple stuff. Stuff that still makes his stomach feel weird, in a good way.

"The whole—" Gerard waves his hand. "Thing. It's also about control, right? Someone's else is in charge. And you have to obey."

"Yeah." Mikey swallows.

"And you like that part too, right?" 

Mikey nods, and Gerard goes on. "What do you like more? The pain or being controlled?"

"Both," Mikey says immediately.

"What if you had to choose?" Gerard asks. "Just for the moment."

Mikey thinks about it. "Pain."

"Okay," Gerard says. "Can we do that? Would you want that?"

"Yes," Mikey says immediately. His stomach feels tight. He wants this. He can't believe Gerard's saying he can have this.

"Right," Gerard says. "Nothing too extreme, nothing—I was just thinking maybe I could just use—my hands? Just leave bruises? Would you be into that?"

"Yes," Mikey says. Fuck, he really would. He needs to remember to get new sweatbands to cover his wrists, now that spring is coming and long sleeves will no longer suffice. Maybe he can even get Gerard to pick them out. He likes stuff like that. Symbolism.

"Okay," Gerard says. "Okay. Uh, so..." He sounds less sure of himself now. Mikey shakes his head.

"Let's just go to the bedroom?" he asks. "We can figure it out there."

"Yeah," Gerard smiles. "Okay." He stands up and leans over the table, kissing Mikey on the temple, then pulls Mikey with him.

Gerard heads right for the bed. "I think we should start with just kissing."

"Yeah," Mikey says. It's strange to have to walk everything through like this, and not just jump in. But there's something about this that's—not fragile, exactly. But either way, Mikey doesn't mind. He likes the way Gerard talks and discusses and always asks Mikey where he stands. "Naked kissing?" Mikey asks.

Gerard tilts his head. "Maybe semi-naked."

Mikey smiles and looks away. He pulls his shirt off and throws it at the pile of dirty clothes in the corner. He's been wearing it for two days anyway, he can swipe something of Gerard's later. He turns around and sees Gerard sitting on the bed, looking at him. His eyes are wide and his face open—Mikey can read everything there. 

Mikey knows he's bony and sometimes pretty awkward, but the dudes he hooks up with don't care, so it's whatever. Gerard, though. He looks at Mikey like he knows him, but is still happy to see him.

His throat feels dry. He swallows and says, "You should take your shirt off, too."

Gerard shrugs. "I'm fine like this. Unless you want me to?"

"Duh," Mikey says. "That's why I'm asking."

Gerard takes a deep breath and pulls his shirt off, then balls it up in his hands. Mikey takes it and throws it on the floor, not even aiming for the dirty pile. Gerard's pale and soft, his jeans digging into his belly and his stomach flopping over the waist. His eyes are guarded, like he's nervous, and Mikey wants to kiss him all over. It's not the first time he's seen Gerard without a shirt, of course, but it's been so long.

He kneels on the bed, straddling Gerard's thighs. Gerard puts his hands on Mikey's sides and Mikey clings to Gerard's shoulders and leans down.

"Are you sure you wanna do this?" Gerard asks, his breath ghosting against Mikey's lips. Mikey answers with a kiss.

Gerard responds immediately, enthusiastically, his mouth opening for Mikey. His lips are soft and maybe a bit chapped, and Mikey tries to be so so careful, to take it slow and not fuck it up. He tries to memorize it all, just in case. The feel of Gerard's lips against his, the way Gerard smells right now and the way he feels against Mikey. The way he makes Mikey feel.

It's Gerard who deepens the kiss, and Mikey makes a soft noise and lets him, his stomach flooding with heat and want. Gerard holds Mikey tighter, his fingers digging into Mikey's sides—gently, but still _there_. Maybe like a promise. His hands are so warm.

Mikey breaks the kiss, and rests his forehead against Gerard's, just breathing.

"Hi," Gerard whispers.

"Hi," Mikey whispers back. He never wants to move. 

Gerard runs his hands over Mikey's sides and Mikey pulls back and meets his eyes.

"Hi," Gerard says again, smiling.

Mikey grins and kisses Gerard's brow. He just kissed his brother. He can't stop smiling.

He pulls back again and reaches for Gerard's fly. "Maybe you should take these off."

Gerard takes Mikey's hand and gently pulls it away. "I'm good," he says. "Not tonight, okay?"

Mikey pauses. "But wouldn't you be more comfortable?"

Gerard sighs and says, "I just wanna keep some stuff out of it for now. Okay?"

"Like our dicks."

"Yes," Gerard says. He gently touches Mikey's cheek. "This is a big deal, Mikes."

"I know," Mikey says, leaning into the touch. "I know that. I just want you to be comfortable."

"I am," Gerard says, and pulls Mikey down to kiss him again.

Mikey doesn't mind the jeans himself. At least he's not wearing his skinniest ones. And if Gerard thinks things would get to be too much in only their underwear, then that's okay. Mikey doesn't want to push.

"Hey," Gerard mumbles against his lips and pulls Mikey even closer, pulls him into a hug and buries his face against Mikey's neck.

"Hey?" Mikey asks, wrapping his arms around Gerard.

Gerard doesn't say anything at first, but his hands are stroking Mikey's back, and he's warm and relaxed against Mikey, so Mikey can wait.

"I just want to do this right," Gerard says eventually. "I want to make sure I do it right, for you."

"You are," Mikey says, and Gerard presses a kiss to his neck. He whispers something against Mikey's skin—Mikey feels it more than he hears it, but he knows what Gerard's saying.

"Wanna treat you right, Mikey Way," Gerard says, and Mikey laughs.

Gerard pulls back, tosses his hair out of his eyes, and looks at Mikey. He has his concentrated face on, the one he has when he's making a decision or trying to fit together one of his projects. Mikey loves his stupid face.

"Come here," Gerard says finally, and scoots back on the bed. Mikey follows and Gerard wraps his arms around his back and kisses him, more intense now. Mikey makes a soft noise and kisses back, burying his hand in Gerard's hair. He needs to get it dyed again. The brown is slowly starting to grow out.

"I was thinking," Gerard says between kisses, stroking Mikey's back. "That maybe I could do this." He suddenly digs his fingers in, not too hard, but still enough to feel, and Mikey gasps.

"Yeah?" Gerard asks. "Would you like that?"

"Fuck," Mikey says. "Yeah, yes, please."

"Okay," Gerard says, and lies back, pulling Mikey down on top of him. "Can I take these off?" he asks, pointing at Mikey's glasses.

"Oh, yeah," Mikey says. "I'll just—" He pulls his glasses off and sets them on the nightstand. It makes everything blurry, and he kind of hates it, but they will get in the way. And he knows Gerard's face.

Mikey kisses Gerard, tangling his fingers in Gerard's hair once more, and Gerard digs his fingers into Mikey's back again, slightly harder this time. It feels good, little points of pain and pressure, and it's Gerard, Gerard who Mikey has under him, Gerard, who is kissing Mikey with all he's got and holding him close, and that just makes it so much better.

Gerard does something especially wonderful with his mouth, and Mikey can't help it, he has to rock down against Gerard.

He freezes, but Gerard slides one hand down, resting it on Mikey's lower back, and says, "Yeah, you can do that, Mikey."

Mikey breathes out roughly, and gets it, gets where the line is again and goes back to kissing Gerard.

Gerard doesn't waste any time either, he moves his hand to Mikey's upper back again, and then he's suddenly dragging his fingers down Mikey's back, as hard as he can, his nails digging in to skin and scratching it up.

Mikey wouldn't be able to repeat the sound he makes if he were asked to. Fuck, fuck, this is so good. It's Gerard's hands on him, digging in and leaving marks, and Mikey feels so overwhelmed he doesn't know what to do. He never thought he could have even a fraction of this.

"Shh," Gerard says, and Mikey realizes he's making quiet sobbing noises. "It's okay," Gerard says, stroking his back.

Mikey tries to catch his breath, says, "I'm fine. I'm—fuck, Gee, please do that again."

Gerard catches Mikey's chin, and looks him in the eye. His gaze is soft and comforting and so Gerard. "You don't have to say please all the time," he says. "I already want to give you everything you want."

Mikey draws in a breath, and Gerard kisses him, gentle.

The kiss turns deeper and then both of Gerard's hands are on Mikey's back again, and he repeats the movement from before, gets it right down to a t. Mikey gasps and rocks down again, feeling himself growing hard. It's the kissing, the pain, and it's Gerard's hands on him, strong and familiar in so many different ways, and Mikey can't help it.

Gerard does it again and again, more erratic now, and stronger, his fingers moving over every spot on Mikey's back and setting it on fire.

Soon Mikey's only gasping against Gerard's mouth, unable to keep up kissing him, and rocking down, his dick hard and straining against the zipper of his jeans.

There's a split second where he doubts it, where he realizes that he might be getting off on this, but what if Gerard's not, but then he jerks his hips down, and Gerard _groans_ , and digs his fingers into Mikey's back, so hard that Mikey cries out.

"Fuck, Mikey," Gerard says, his voice throaty, and he's panting now, trying to catch his breath, and shuddering, and Mikey realizes he just came.

He buries his face in Gerard's neck and rocks down once more, coming as well, completely blown away by the fact that he made his brother come first.

"Fuck," Gerard says again, and wraps his arms around Mikey's back, holding him tight. "Fuck."

Mikey sucks in a breath, his nose pressed against Gerard's neck. Gerard smells like Gerard and Mikey loves it. Especially now, when he smells like a sexed up version of Gerard and it's all because of Mikey.

"Fuck," Gerard says again. "Shit, Mikey, was that good for you?"

Mikey pulls back slightly and looks down at Gerard. His hair is a mess, his eyes wide and open, and Mikey has to swallow before he can answer.

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, Gee, are you kidding me? It was—it was good for you too, right?"

"Yeah," Gerard says, and lifts his hand and brushes Mikey's hair away from his forehead. "Yeah, it was so fucking good."

Mikey smiles down at him, feeling light—relieved. All the tension has gone out of him, and he's tired. He wants to lie down next to Gerard and fall asleep. Cuddle time, motherfucker, like Gerard usually says.

"Hey, wait," Gerard says, and strokes Mikey's cheek. "How's your back?"

Mikey stretches a bit, feeling it out. It's tingling pleasantly, but it doesn't hurt that much.

"It's good," he says.

"I didn't hurt you too bad, did I?"

Mikey laughs. "First of all, kind of the point. And no, I mean, it's really not that much compared to the flogging."

Gerard's eyes go wide, and Mikey pauses. Oh, yeah, he hadn't told Gerard about that.

"Flogging?" Gerard asks, his voice a bit squeaky.

"It's fine," Mikey says. "It was fine, I liked it."

"No, yeah, I mean—I mean, that's good obviously. I just didn't think—wow."

Mikey breathes out. "You like that?"

Gerard blinks. "Maybe. Maybe, yeah? I don't know; I definitely don't not like it. As long as you're okay, I mean."

Mikey leans down and kisses him, feeling so endlessly fond. "I'm good." Great, really, at the moment.

Gerard kisses him back softly and Mikey makes a happy noise and lies down half on top of him. He's gonna fall asleep any second now.

"Hey, no, wait," Gerard says. "Let me see your back."

Mikey grumbles and shuffles to the side, letting Gerard get up. He buries his face against the pillow and is prepared to fall asleep, but then Gerard touches his back, and even though there's no way Mikey's ready for round two, there's still a warm feeling of pleasure, deep in his belly.

"It doesn't look too bad," Gerard says. "Didn't break skin. Helps that you're so fucking pale, though. It's pretty red."

Mikey tries to say, "You're fucking pale" and "Take a picture" at the same time, and Gerard laughs and gently strokes his back.

Mikey opens his eyes again when the bed dips. Gerard's lying down next to him; Mikey turns to his side, enjoying the way the skin on his back aches when it pulls.

He runs his gaze over Gerard, seeing he's taken off his jeans and is only wearing his boxers.

"You don't wanna get your jeans off?" Gerard asks.

"Don't wanna move."

"I can help," Gerard says.

Mikey tilts his hips towards him. "Go for it."

Gerard laughs, but after a bit of wriggling and cursing—Gerard—and sighing—Mikey—they get them off. Gerard throws them on the floor, and Mikey curls up on his side, content. It's a nice feeling, being content.

"Next time we're taking the jeans off before," he says. His briefs are all sticky, but he's so not gonna clean up right now. Gerard will deal.

"I think we should put something on your back," Gerard says. "But I don't have anything."

"It's fine," Mikey says. "You didn't break the skin, and it feels fine."

"Does it?" Gerard asks.

"Well, it hurts. But I don't mind."

"Are you sure?" Gerard presses. He sounds really worried now.

"Yeah," Mikey promises. "We can deal with it tomorrow. How long till your roommate gets back?"

"Till the day after, he said," Gerard says. "I locked my door, just in case."

Mikey takes a deep breath and shuffles closer to Gerard. It makes him feel safe.

"And we should probably shower tomorrow," Mikey says, sadly.

"Probably," Gerard says, equally sad, and Mikey almost laughs out loud. "Hey, I think the shower's big enough for two."

Mikey cracks his eye open and looks at Gerard. His face is lightly pink, and Mikey wants to kiss him. He contents himself with reaching out and settling his hand on Gerard's belly. Gerard squirms a little, but he doesn't pull away. He's smiling.

Mikey thinks about showering with Gerard, if they decide to do that, actually get naked together, and realizes that's probably the only way to get him excited for a shower.

He closes his eyes and yawns. Gerard's stomach quivers, and he turns on his side, Mikey following and spooning up behind him. He throws his arm around Gerard's waist, pressing his hand against Gerard's warm, soft belly, and falls asleep.

~

"Mikey Way, it's been a while."

Mikey smiles and leans up to give Travie a hug. "It hasn't been that long."

Travie shrugs. "Eh, I've just missed your pretty face."

Mikey laughs and finishes off his drink. This party's been boring, so far. He lost track of Frank and Jamia at some point so he doesn't even have anyone to complain to, and Pete and Gabe aren't here yet.

"You here on your own?" Travie asks. "Where's your bro?"

"Gee has a project," Mikey says. "He's trying to finish it, deadline soon." Gerard's pretty much in the home stretch, which means he disappears into his room and just works until he collapses. Mikey's been busy himself, so he hasn't seen Gerard in days, and he's worried. At least Gerard responds to texts—hours later, but still—and picks up the occasional phone call. Mikey still misses him.

Travie nods thoughtfully. "Tell him I'm sending him some good vibes."

Mikey grins. "Sure."

Travie looks around at the party, then back at Mikey, runs his eyes over him. He nods towards the sweatbands on Mikey's wrists. "You having fun?" He's smirking, but it's friendly.

Mikey looks down—the sweatbands are new, Gerard found them for him. Currently they're hiding a monster bruise on his right wrist, from when Gerard dug his nails in and _held_. Mikey shrugs. He's not even gonna tell Travie what marks are on his hips.

Travie leans in closer then and tilts his head, gauging the bruise at the base of Mikey's neck, where his shirt has slipped down. Gerard really likes Mikey's neck.

"You getting what you need, Mikey Way?" Travie asks.

Mikey tugs the shirt collar back into place and smiles at him. "I'm getting exactly what I need."

"Good," Travie says, seeming genuinely pleased. "You know, you can always come to me if there's something."

Mikey nudges his side. "I know." Travie's a good dude. "I'm okay, though."

"Yeah, you look better than okay," Travie says.

Mikey looks away; his face feels warm. Leave it to Travie to make him fucking blush.

"You found someone who takes care of you," Travie says. "That's good."

Mikey shrugs. "You took care of me, too."

"Not the same," Travie says. "But I'm glad." He throws a hand around Mikey's shoulders and squeezes. He doesn't ask who Mikey's with now—Travie's a good dude like that.

"This party sucks," Jamia says, walking up to them. "Hey, Travie." Travie nods at her, and she continues, "I'm gonna go find Frank, we're probably gonna go. You guys coming?"

"Where?" Travie asks.

Jamia shrugs. "Somewhere else."

"I'm in," Mikey says. She gives him the briefest smile, then turns to scan the crowd.

"Great, I'll go fetch Frank."

"Hey, have you seen Pete and Gabe around?" Mikey asks.

She shakes her head and disappears into the crowd.

"I'll text them," Travie says. "They said they were coming."

Mikey checks his own phone. Nothing from Gerard; he hasn't been in contact since last night. Mikey frowns. Maybe he'll go over tonight. He had thought about it before, but Gerard doesn't like company when he's working.

"Hey, guys, let's go." It's Frank, calling out to them from across the crowd, waving at them, Jamia with him. Mikey and Travie follow them to the door. The crowd is thick, which is weird, considering what a bore the whole thing is, but Travie takes the lead and Mikey slips through the mass of people after him.

They run into Gabe and Pete as they're coming in. 

"Hey, look who I found," Gabe says, and pulls Gerard to the front.

"Gerard," Mikey says, surprised.

Gerard's eyes find him and he breaks into a wide smile. "Mikey." He heads right for Mikey and plasters himself to Mikey's side, clinging to him. "I finished it. I did it."

"The project?" Mikey asks, resting his arm on Gerard's shoulder.

Gerard nods. He looks kind of wild-eyed. "I finished it."

"Found him outside, said he was heading here," Gabe tells Mikey.

"Fuck," Gerard says. Mikey knows this phase—it's the wild exhilaration combined with complete exhaustion because Gerard stays up for nights when he's trying to finish something. He'll drop down sometime tomorrow and either be convinced what he's created is shit or be proud as hell of it. Sometimes they mix. But right now he's happy and warm against Mikey's side.

"Congrats, Gee," Travie says. Frank and Jamia are looking at him fondly, but Gerard doesn't notice. Mikey remembers that they don't know them from before, not like Gabe or Travie; they don't know exactly how close Mikey and Gerard were, hadn't seen it before, but they don't seem to find the way Gerard's clinging to him odd at all. It's nice.

"Why are we standing at the door?" Pete asks.

"Because this is the place to be," Gabe says, grinning wide, and throws his arm over Pete's shoulder. Mikey sees Pete lean in and catches his eye. Pete looks back, happy and pleased, and Mikey smiles.

"We're leaving, actually," Frank says. "This place is boring. You guys coming?"

"Sure," Pete says, turns around, pulling Gabe with him. Gabe grumbles something about how they haven't looked at all the options the party's got to offer yet, but no one listens to him.

Gerard's still holding on to Mikey's waist, breathing steady and slow. "Come on, Gee," Mikey says, gently shaking his shoulder. "Let's go. Don't fall asleep on me."

"'Kay," Gerard says. "No, I'm awake. Fuck. Hey, wait for us!" He pulls away and rests his hand on Mikey's shoulder, squeezing. His fingers brush against the bruise on Mikey's neck. Mikey looks down, hiding his smile, and follows him out the door.

~

_A month later_

Mikey's almost finished with his first cup of coffee when Gerard bursts through the doors of the coffee shop. He bumps into two people and barely avoids a table, rushing to where Mikey's sitting behind their usual table.

"Easy," Mikey says, when Gerard jostles the table, almost making the coffee Mikey bought him spill over. It hopefully hasn't gone totally cold—they make good stuff here.

"Sorry," Gerard gasps and pulls off his scarf, snatching it away before the end falls in his coffee. "Sorry, I got—the meeting went over and there was a jam and—"

"Chill," Mikey says. "You're not even that late."

"I just didn't wanna miss you," Gerard says, still breathing heavily. He runs a hand through his hair and reaches for his coffee.

"You didn't," Mikey says. "My class doesn't start for another hour, dude." 

Gerard waves his hand and slurps his coffee. 

"Besides, you saw me yesterday," Mikey points out.

"So?" Gerard asks, and puts his coffee down—half of it is gone. "I wanted to see you today. Missed you."

Mikey smiles, pleased. "Here I am."

Gerard grins at him, wide and bright. Mikey feels such fondness deep in his stomach.

"Anyway, you can make it up to me by getting me another coffee."

Gerard sighs, but gets up. Mikey watches him at the counter, watches Gerard play with his hair and shoot Mikey glances from the line. He wonders if people who don't know them would think they're brothers or boyfriends or just friends. Everyone always says they don't look that much alike. Mikey's not sure what he wants them to see. At the end, that's not important, he guesses. That's definitely what Gerard would say.

Gerard returns triumphantly with two new coffees. Mikey takes a sip of his and says, "Tell me about the meeting?"

Gerard shakes his head. "Terrible. Fuck, I'll tell you later? I just wanna talk about something fun now."

Mikey nods thoughtfully. "The newest Batman?"

"Oh, fuck." Gerard smiles. "What the fuck were they _thinking_ with that?"

Mikey shakes his head. "I have no fucking clue."

They fill the next hour like that, covering all the stuff they haven't discussed yet, and soon Mikey's running late for his class. He doesn't want to leave, but Gerard makes a face and says, "You probably should."

Mikey laughs. "That's not really convincing."

"No, no," Gerard says. "Go. Come on, let's go." Mikey sighs and follows him.

Gerard hugs him outside, in front of the store, wrapping his arms tightly around Mikey. Mikey rests his chin on Gerard's shoulder and breathes in; smoke, coffee, sweat covered by cologne and deodorant—Gerard.

"I really have to go," Mikey says remorsefully.

"Yeah," Gerard says. He pulls back and slips his sunglasses on. "Fucking sun."

Mikey squints. It's too bright—an early spring sun—and it hurts his eyes. But still. "It's kind of nice. Spring."

Gerard huffs. "Seriously. Fuck winter." He pulls Mikey in for another tight but brief hug. Mikey feels the touch of lips against his cheekbone, high up, hidden from everyone else.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Gerard says. "You don't have any plans, right?"

Mikey shakes his head. He's gonna check out some new band with Frank tonight, but nothing tomorrow. "You sure you don't wanna come tonight?"

"Can't," Gerard says. "Deadline. I'm not done yet. But you'll come over tomorrow, right? It's—it's a Saturday? Right?"

"It's a Saturday," Mikey says. "And yeah, I'll be there."

"Great," Gerard says. "Go, don't be late. Or your professor will have your ass."

Mikey raises an eyebrow. "He can't handle my ass," he deadpans.

Gerard chokes out a laugh. "Fuck. Seriously, go. I'll see you tomorrow."

"You already said that," Mikey points out. Gerard gets sentimental sometimes. It's sweet, though. Frank's pointed out many times that they've gotten way more codependent recently. Mikey just shrugs and says that he's missed Gerard. Which is true. Maybe they're making up for lost time. Maybe he's being sentimental now.

"Whatever," Gerard says. "Your ass is all mine."

Mikey swallows. "Yeah? What are you gonna do with it?"

"I'll think of something," Gerard says, gaze intense. He cracks a smile, and Mikey breathes out. The sun is warm on his face, and soon it'll be summer. Mikey's not really sure what he'll do during summer, but he'll figure something out. He's sure it'll be better than the last few.

Gerard's eyes are hidden by his sunglasses, but Mikey doesn't have to see them to know what's there.

"Go on," Gerard says. "Love you."

"Love you too," Mikey responds quietly. He knows Gerard can hear him.


End file.
